Pivotal Moments
by Embolalia
Summary: A series of missing scenes exploring Ziva's relationships with Michael and Tony across season 6.
1. Judgement Day

**Pivotal Moments**

**Author's Note:**

This will eventually be a series of scenes crossing the last season or so, filling in the gaps in the information about Ziva and Michael up to and beyond Aliyah. It is, of course, my interpretation. This scene happens during the break between seasons 5 and 6. Also, I don't really like the title, but I have to go to bed now so I'll be refreshed enough for the ninth to last day of school tomorrow! Who ever knew that teachers got more excited about it than children? Anyway, if you have a better idea for a title, I'm open to suggestion.

**Disclaimer**: If I could get paid for this, I would!

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**August 2008: Tel Aviv**

Ziva glanced up and down the hallway quickly. Finding no one, she looked back to the package in her hands. In typed Hebrew characters were her roommate's name and her own: Rebekah Meir and Ziva David. She tilted the package slowly from side to side. Nothing shifted. With another cautious glance down the hall, she relocked their mailbox and headed upstairs.

In the apartment, Rebekah was sitting at the kitchen table, case files spread around her and a steaming cup of tea at her right hand. "Ziva! Shalom," she greeted her friend.

"We got some suspicious mail," Ziva answered seriously, setting down her bag and approaching the table.

Rebekah raised her eyebrows in concern and rose to meet her. "For both of us?"

"It seems so." Ziva passed Rebekah the package and she inspected it.

"Should we bring it into the office?"

Ziva shrugged, crossed to the kitchen to pour herself some tea. "It hasn't blown up yet."

Rebekah rolled her eyes. "Fine, you open it."

Ziva smiled for the first time since entering and playfully snatched the package. Even as Rebekah opened her mouth to protest, Ziva tore the brown paper and shook out a note card and a video cassette. As she glanced over the card, she gasped.

"What?" Rebekah demanded.

Ziva snickered, then read aloud, her voice trembling with laughter. "In the future, girls, don't leave the evidence where the victim might find it."

"Why is that funny?" Rebekah demanded, worried.

Ziva struggled to control her face. "It's your father's writing. I'm pretty sure this is our sniper video."

Rebekah looked delighted for a moment at the memory, then stricken. "Do you think Ima found it?"

"I don't think we'd be alive if she had," Ziva answered, still giggling.

Rebekah laughed too, in relief. "Well, put it on." She grabbed her tea off the table and sank onto the couch while Ziva popped in the tape.

A moment later, there they were on the screen, through the camera Ziva was holding at arms' length, eighteen years old in grass-stained military fatigues, laying in Rebekah's yard in the middle of the night, feigning seriousness as they loaded their rifles with rubber bullets.

The two women wailed with laughter as they watched the girls take aim and fire silently at the rows of tulips adorning the garden, taking out one blossom at a time with fairly good aim. Rebekah fell over into Ziva as she laughed, resting her head on her friend's shoulder.

"Thank god Ima didn't find this."

"Just hope your father didn't make a copy." They fell back to giggling, trying to drink tea, and laughing too hard to drink.

After several long minutes, their breath slowed. Rebekah pulled away from Ziva and watched her face return from its sudden sunnyness to the melancholic calm that had characterized her since her return to Tel Aviv.

"So how is your adjustment going?" She hadn't brought up the subject of America in weeks; she hoped Ziva was more open to talking about it now.

Ziva sighed. "I am remembering more and more of how to live here." She shrugged, glancing at her friend. "Sometimes NCIS seems like another lifetime."

"Are you still missing them?"

Another shrug.

"Are you still missing him?" She emphasized the last word.

Ziva glared at her. "Stop suggesting that."

"Ziba, the way you talk about Tony, when you do mention any of them—" The look on Ziva's face stopped her. "Did you love him?"

Ziva shook her head, refusing to answer. After a moment, she spoke, directing her words to the coffee table. "There are so few people I have trusted in my life, who have proven themselves worthy of that trust."

Rebekah nodded.

"To find someone I can trust, who is not family, who is attractive to me…" She met Rebekah's eyes and the other woman nodded once in understanding. "I'm thirty-two years old and I've never been in love. I'm not sure I'd know if I was."

"Oh, I don't know," Rebekah answered, her voice light, "there was that one civilian in Panama…"

Ziva chuckled and grabbed up a couch pillow to toss at her.

Rebekah caught the pillow and held it tightly. "Didn't you love him?" she asked melodramatically.

"I'm not sure flings when you're twenty-two count," Ziva said grudgingly.

"How many times did Ari try to tell you that?" Rebekah teased.

Ziva rolled her eyes. They calmed again. "Yes, I miss Tony. But I will probably never see him again."

Rebekah watched Ziva clenching her mug tightly. She reached across to squeeze the back of her friend's hand. "If it helps at all, I'm glad you're back."

Ziva nodded assent, then changed the subject. "So, I got news today."

"Of what?"

"My father's pulling me off intelligence with you; he's sending me to Morocco, undercover, as a lounge singer."

"Well, great!"

"Great?"

"You have such a lovely voice."

Ziva smiled. "Thank you. Anyway, I'll be going with Rivkin. I'm not sure when I'll be back, it could be a few weeks."

Rebekah pursed her lips, her face pensive.

"What?" Ziva asked.

"Just—don't jump into anything. I know you guys had a fling back in Russia, but lately he's seemed off. I can't quite explain it. And I know you're still a mess—"

"Hey!" Ziva protested, but Rebekah waved her to silence.

"Be careful in Morocco, that's all, Zibilya."

Ziva nodded, then shrieked and dashed off the couch as Rebekah lobbed the pillow back at her.

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**A/N** In this chapter, Ziva got called Ziba or Zibilya; in Hebrew, the letters B and V are nearly the same, and sometimes used interchangeably. The latter nickname is a Yiddish-ization of her name, which I think makes sense in this context.

**Review if you have time!**


	2. Last Man Standing

**Pivotal Moments**

Author's Note:

This will eventually be a series of scenes crossing the last season or so, filling in the gaps in the information about Ziva and Michael up to and beyond scene takes place during the events of the season 6 opener.

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**September 2008: Morocco, Tel Aviv**

The tension in her left elbow was the first thing Ziva felt as she woke up. She laid still as she'd been trained, betraying no sign of wakefulness until she was sure where she was. She tapped one finger on her left hand as if she were simply shifting in her sleep. The dull pain in her elbow told her the tension was an IV. The faint scent of cleanser added to her certainty that she was in a hospital.

Ziva remained still a moment longer, reviewing the events of the previous—hour? day? She couldn't be sure how long had passed. Three weeks ago, she'd been send here to Morocco to set up the mission with Rivkin: ingratiate herself at the nightclub, determine how regularly the target visited and how best to monitor him, work up her undercover routines. The weeks had gone quickly; Rivkin was oddly aloof as Rebekah had mentioned, and while Ziva had worried at first that too little interaction would leave her too much time to reflect on NCIS, the mission had quickly absorbed her attention. Until last…well, until she'd been singing and had seen…a bomb? The idea of the bomb was fixed in her mind, but she wasn't sure whether she saw it or felt it—Ziva mentally shrugged the question aside. Either way, it was unlikely she was being held.

She opened her eyes.

Michael was asleep in a chair across from her, with his wrist wrapped in a bandage but otherwise seemingly intact.

"Rivkin?" Ziva said softly.

He jerked awake, looked her over frantically, then sighed with relief. "Thank God."

She smiled. "Worried?"

"The doctors said you'd hit your head pretty hard, and even though you have no other serious injuries, it was difficult for them to predict when you'd wake up. But you remember me, and seem yourself, so…"

Ziva nodded, suppressing the tingle of alarm that went through her at what might have been. "How long have I been out?"

Rivkin glanced at his watch. "It's nearly midnight. The bomb went off at 10 PM yesterday."

The bomb was confirmed then, Ziva thought. "I don't remember exactly what happened, but I remember something about a bomb."

"Yeah. Fairly simple home-made explosive or it'd have done more damage; Moroccan police are looking into exactly where it came from. It seems to have been meant for the American." Rivkin paused. "He was closest; he was killed in the blast."

Ziva sighed and laid back on the bed. "Any civilian casualities?" she asked softly, staring at the ceiling.

"No," Rivkin answered.

Ziva didn't often pray, but she said a silent thank you. "So when are we getting out of here?"

At this Rivkin smiled. "Let me check with your doctor." He rose and left the room.

Ziva closed her eyes again as he left. She wondered what would have happened if she'd died. Would anyone have called Gibbs? Perhaps Rebekah…It twisted her stomach in knots to think of the team losing someone else so soon after Jenny. Abby might never recover. At least the others were all out of harm's way. Barring an accident, she didn't need to worry about them. Tony's face flashed through her mind, concerned and tender as it had been the last time she'd been in a hospital, with Roy. She felt an urge to sob and sternly told herself to regroup. Clearly the drugs pumping through her had affected her, but it was time to get it together. Ziva pushed herself up to a seated position as a doctor and nurse rushed into the room, beaming at her progress.

***

The doctor refused to release Ziva until the next evening, but her injuries were relatively minor except for the concussion. She was sent off with Michael to rest and, on Mossad's orders, to close up shop at their undercover apartment before returning to Tel Aviv in the morning.

He kept his arm around her waist as they climbed the two flights of rickety stairs to the apartment, and Ziva was surprised to find herself aware of his presence beside her as a man, one she was fairly attracted to. It shouldn't be surprising, she reflected, as they stopped at the landing while he unlocked the door with his good hand. It was standard practice in Mossad for partners to use sex for comfort during strenuous missions. The bombing was just the sort of thing that usually brought on such intimacies.

As they entered, she caught at Rivkin's hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

Ziva smiled gently at him. He'd been reliable, and she appreciated that. She smiled more flirtatiously.

Michael grinned back after a moment, and Ziva tugged his hand, pulling him closer. When he was just in front of her, she leaned up and kissed him.

***

The alarm went off at 0700 and Michael's arm stretched over Ziva to turn it off.

"Back to Tel Aviv, today," she said softly.

Michael pressed his face into her hair, wrapping his arm around her. Ziva stroked his arm aimlessly. "Looking forward to your own place?"

He sighed. She felt the rush of air against her neck through her twisted curls and rolled to face him.

"Michael?"

Rivkin's face was serious.

"What is it?"

"I can't help wondering if there's more they should have told us. About the bombing. We were lucky, but it could have so easily gone the other way."

Ziva propped herself up on her elbow. "What could they have known?"

"After the bombing, while you were out, I called headquarters. Hadar seemed so unsurprised by the details—"

"He never seems too phased by things."

"Still. I got the impression they knew more than we did. I've gotten that sense before, too. I know there's need-to-know, but I'm not sure how much I can trust the people in charge if they don't trust us."

Ziva watched his face as she processed what he was saying. She knew her father had been keeping her at arm's length, lately. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he or his subordinates had withheld sensitive details. "I know what you mean," she answered simply.

Michael's eyes leapt to hers, startled by the admission. "You seem so strongly tied to Mossad."

Ziva smiled faintly, regretfully. "I was, once. I left, you know, to be a liaison in the United States."

Rivkin nodded that he knew.

"Giving my loyalty for four years there, having it rewarded by the people around me—I feel I've come back to Mossad with clearer eyes, less obsessed and more critical."

Rivkin's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Getting back together with your ex."

Ziva laughed. "I suppose that's a good analogy." Her face grew serious again. "But I do not think my father would intentionally let me come to harm. And we did not." She suppressed the doubt that she felt as she said the words aloud.

Rivkin lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "No, we did not." He pulled her down into his embrace, and Ziva went willingly, abandoning her questions and then all thought.

***

That night, as her father debriefed them, the phone rang. And there was Vance on the other end, asking her back. Ziva was startled by how quickly her heart beat at hearing Gibbs' voice again. When he told her he missed her, she rushed to pick up the phone, to conceal from her father how intimately familiar she was with this other father figure. Mistake, she told herself as she did it. You should have let him see there's nothing to hide. But either way, she was going back to DC.

Rivkin drove her home from the debriefing. Rebekah was now undercover, somewhere Ziva wasn't cleared to know about, and he invited himself in, joking that she still needed medical supervision. Ziva flirted back, but when the lights were off and his fingers were tangled in her hair, she wondered about Tony, if this meant she would see him again soon.

***

In the morning, before her flight, Eli summoned Ziva to his office. She went gladly, more relaxed now that she was packed for DC than she could remember being since she'd left. Her ebullience faded slightly at the look on her father's face, but she was still smiling as she sank into a chair across from his desk.

"Ziva," he began, "it has come to my attention that you've become rather close to Michael Rivkin."

She shook her head, nostrils flaring, suppressing disgust. "Who is it that reports my slightest move to you, Father?" she asked, aggravated,

Eli shook his head. "You misunderstand. I do not object to your liaison." He smiled thinly at the double meaning. "I have had doubts about the man's loyalty, and I need your help to monitor his fidelity to Mossad."

Ziva nodded. There was no other response to such an instruction.

"I had been planning to assign you both to a mission in the US, but now I will likely send him alone. When he comes to DC, support him as he asks—but if he gives you reason to think he might not hold our values most closely--" Eli looked meaningfully at Ziva and did not finish the sentence.

She nodded again.

"Well then," Eli beamed. "Give me a hug before you fly off again."

Ziva hugged him stiffly, keeping her face remote as he'd trained her to do. There was no doubt in her mind who was in the right and who in the wrong. But all she'd been asked to do was to help Michael where she could, and the reality of the assignment would seem much different when they were both on another continent. A continent she'd been missing far more than she'd allowed herself to admit until now.

It was not hard for Ziva to smile as she pulled away from her father and said a quiet Shalom before taking her leave.


	3. Agent Afloat

**Pivotal Moments**

Author's Note: This will eventually be a series of scenes crossing the last season or so, filling in the gaps in the information about Ziva and Michael up to and beyond Aliyah. It is, of course, my interpretation of a show I do not own *sigh.*

Chapter 3 takes place during **Agent Afloat 6x02**

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­**September 2008: Colombia**

Ziva set her backpack down beside her desk and sat, waiting for Gibbs to finish his paperwork so they could leave. She doubted she'd ever packed as quickly as today, in her eagerness to see Tony again. Gibbs rose and headed toward the bathroom. Ziva sighed with impatience.

A ding from her computer caught her attention, and she turned on the screen to check her new e-mail. Ziva tensed when she saw it was from Michael.

_Ziva, I hope you're well in DC, back among people you trust. I'm being sent after a terrorist cell without even a partner for back-up, and while I know we're spread thin since the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan started, I wish I knew that that was the only reason I don't have support for this. Your father told me to get in contact with you if I need help setting up an American alias, so I'm doing do. I hope you're well, and that you'll call when you can to help me. ~Michael_

The tension in her body remained even after she closed her email and turned off the computer. This was exactly what her father had been asking her to report: Michael's skepticism about MOSSAD. But wasn't he right to be skeptical? He was suspected of disloyalty and it was entirely possible her father was deliberately setting him up to question his orders. As long as Michael continued to follow those orders, she didn't see why he could be considered a traitor, but she too had orders to follow...

"Ziver. Let's go," Gibbs said shortly as he passed her desk on the way to the elevator, and Ziva put her worries about Michael out of her mind as she rose and followed him.

***

Worries about Tony filled her instead when she and Gibbs finally found him; the way his eyes lit up told her that he'd been isolated too long from people who could see through his facade of comedy and promiscuity. When she had a moment alone with him, she tried to say so.

"You seem different," she began.

"Taller? Hotter?" Tony suggested.

"Older," Ziva said slowly. It was true. His tan highlighted the fine lines around his eyes and mouth. She supposed his face had changed slowly over the years she'd known him, but after time apart the differences between him and the man she'd first met were more pronounced. He looked more serious, more professional—also sadder.

"Well, it's been over four months," Tony answered, a little defensively.

It wasn't as though Ziva didn't know what had changed him this way; she knew she too had been more serious these last months. "You still beating yourself up over Jenny?" she asked softly.

"Not as much as I used to," he answered, facing down the hallway toward Gibbs so that she couldn't read his expression.

"Drinking?"

"Not as much as I used to."

Ziva felt her heart ache at his tone, knowing that in the months she had been missing him, at least she had had Rebekah and then Michael nearby for distraction and support. She wished Tony had had someone. She touched his arm to get his attention. "You could have called." Tony stared straight into her face, and she didn't know how to interpret the intensity in his eyes.

Before she could question him further, Gibbs interrupted again.

When she tried to continue their conversation later, Tony cut her off in a surly tone. "You're back in DC, which is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Ziva sighed. Wasn't it? Without him, with all the worry about Michael since she'd returned, NCIS hadn't been the haven she'd remembered. "You get orders, Tony. You may not like them but you follow them. That's why they're called orders."

Tony was watching her in turn. "That's not what I asked. Something happened in Israel, didn't it? You'll say you don't want to talk about it, but your eyes won't shut up. Something you left behind? Or someone?"

She paused. When he'd said earlier that McGee had had the worst summer, she realized no one had told him about Morocco. She couldn't tell him now; she knew that he would interpret the story as somehow his fault, for screwing up and getting her sent away into danger. "You're right," she answered, "I don't want to talk about it."

***

It occurred to Ziva on the flight home, watching Tony sleeping across the aisle, that she never answered Tony's second question, about _who _she'd left behind. She knew she could have, but at some level she was resistant, and it startled her that she didn't know exactly why.

Instead she turned her thoughts back to Michael. She hadn't been lying when she said to Tony that orders were meant to be followed, but for the moment she couldn't bring herself to obey one that would lead to her betrayal of someone who trusted her. Surely she could keep Michael's fears to herself without endangering MOSSAD.


	4. Nine Lives

**Pivotal Moments**

Author's Note: This used to be chapter 3, but I tucked a new chapter in before it, making this now chapter 4. If you're trying to read the new one, click back and check it out. This chapter falls after Nine Lives, as Ziva takes off on her mystery trip back to Israel.

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**October 2008: Tel Aviv**

Tony's farewell had caught her off guard, and as she stood in the elevator Ziva was surprised to find her pulse racing. Surely she'd put any interest in him behind her; since they'd returned from their respective assignments elsewhere, they'd been as friendly as ever but also as professional. Well, she smirked to herself, she'd been as professional as ever. She hadn't expected Tony to go out of his way to remind her that he cared, to try to make her flight more comfortable, after his near obsession all week with finding out where she was going.

If she were honest with herself, there was more than the need to tease Tony that had kept her from talking about the trip. Between her father's orders and the vague way Michael had been discussing their plans for the weekend, she wasn't sure what she really was traveling back for, and it was easier to make a game of it than to try to put into words in a foreign language what she might or might not feel for Michael Rivkin.

The elevator opened on the ground floor and Ziva got out, trying to put Tony's words out of her mind as she planned out the fastest route to BWI.

***

As she stepped out of the airplane terminal into the airport outside Tel Aviv, Ziva glanced around for Michael. He hadn't been sure if he could pick her up. She turned on her cellphone and checked her texts: there it was, she should come to his apartment when she got in. The grin that crossed her face at the news should have warned her how serious she wasn't about this man. She walked quickly toward the rental kiosk.

At the counter she flashed her MOSSAD badge and glanced over the list of vehicles passed to her before settling with a grin on her favorite brand of motorcycle. The attendant politely found her a helmet and led her out to the bike. As she flew through the dry heat of an Israeli morning, Ziva delighted in the speed she had at her control. Tony needed to feel this, she thought, if he were ever going to understand how she drove.

Near the airport was a small, open-air market where Ziva could remember shopping with her mother and sister as a girl. When she was older, Ari would take her there to practice tracking random strangers in the crowd. He'd always act proud of her prowess, and she'd glow with his approval. Almost enough time had passed for her to remember him only fondly, and she allowed herself a small smile as she glanced back through time at the market before returning her eyes to the road.

***

She dropped her backpack in the living room of Michael's apartment and showered quickly, washing off the dust of travel and the dregs of exhaustion from sleeping through a travel-shortened night in a chair. Dressed again, she wandered aimlessly around the apartment, unsure when to expect Michael back. He'd continued to email her once in a while over the past few months for support with his mission, and she'd diligently replied through her MOSSAD email in words that adhered exactly to the company line—but she'd also called him a handful of times, on tired nights after long days when she needed to shoot the—wind? Tony would know—and needed someone who knew her life to talk to. The others at work would have talked with her, she knew, but if her reassignment to MOSSAD had taught her nothing else, it was that she shouldn't depend on one small group of people for every facet of professional and personal relationships.

When Michael finally returned, he found Ziva poised on his couch, weapon drawn, an American movie with Hebrew subtitles on the TV screen behind her.

"Everything alright?" he asked, half-laughing.

Ziva sighed. "I was asleep, I heard a noise..." She smiled self-consciously, but when Michael nodded with total understanding she dropped the gun, swung off the couch, and stepped forward to hug him.

Michael pulled back after a moment to kiss her, gently then harder.

Ziva stopped him after a minute and went to turn on the kettle. "So, Michael, how have you been?" she asked as she reached for mugs in the cabinet. She glanced over her shoulder and saw he'd set his things down and was watching her fondly. At her words his expression grew remote for a moment.

"Well. I've been fine. There are some things we should talk about, though."

Ziva nodded as she set out teabags. "Here?" She wondered if this was personal or not—though her face never betrayed it, she began to worry what she would do if he said something she would be required to share with her father.

Michael shook his head. "After we drink our tea, we'll drive to the sea. I made us a reservation for the weekend."

Ziva smiled at the prospect. "Can I drive?"

***

That evening, settled into their room and having made good use of the bed before dinner, Ziva and Michael walked along the beach. The sea was nearly turquoise, the color water was supposed to be, Ziva thought. When she saw the ocean near Washington it never seemed quite so familiar.

Michael stopped abruptly in the middle of the sand, jolting Ziva from her thoughts as their joined hands jerked her to a stop.

"What is it?" she asked, surveying his pensive face in the dim light.

"Your father called me into a meeting a couple days ago."

She raised her eyebrows. "You're being sent on a mission?" She had been waiting for his assignment to the States for a while now.

"It's not that," Michael said slowly. "I am, but that seems fairly straightforward. He asked me, while I'm in America, to keep an eye on you. To monitor your loyalties."

Ziva wasn't sure what she felt in that first moment, processing Michael's words, but she was sure it wasn't surprise. She knew her father was bothered by her ties to NCIS, knew that if she weren't his daughter she would never have been reassigned where someone else held such influence over her. She nodded slowly. "He asked me to do the same."

"What?" Michael was startled.

"He asked me to watch you, gauge your commitment to MOSSAD."

"When? Why didn't you tell me?" Michael burst out before reigning in his emotions.

Ziva watched him closely, answered slowly. "The last morning, before I left to return to the States. _Not_," she emphasized, "before Morocco. I have not relayed any of our communication to him—I didn't tell you because there didn't seem a reason to. If you'd been too concerned about watching your words, they would have suspected you all the more."

Michael nodded acceptance, but he held himself rigidly upright in unconsciously military posture, and Ziva could tell he was still bothered.

"I told you now," she pointed out. It surprised her to hear the words come out of her mouth. To worry about his feelings so much that she'd come so close to apologizing—the way her anxiety eased at the softening of his features told her she was valuing their relationship more than she'd planned.

"So what do we do?" Michael asked softly. "Trust each other or guard ourselves against the slightest slip of the tongue?"

Ziva slid her hand into his. She wasn't sure how serious this was, but she knew that her father had chosen to be her director instead, while Michael had chosen her friendship despite the risk to his career. "Well, I've got your back," she said softly. When she glanced up into his eyes, he was smiling.

"Good," he said warmly.

***

The rest of the trip was easy, relaxed, the sort of escape from Washington Ziva hadn't even known she needed. And laying in his arms the last morning, Ziva wondered if love wasn't like this, the contentment she felt here, sated and comfortable and exhausted.


	5. Cloak

**Pivotal Moments**

Author's Note: This chapter follows Cloak, but is decidedly more Tony/Ziva friendship than UST. Ziva questions her loyalties more when she finds out Gibbs sent her and Tony into danger without all the facts.

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**December 2008: DC**

In the instant that she woke, Ziva froze. Unconsciousness was becoming too frequent a visitor. She played back her last memories: sneaking in, the closet with Tony, getting what they needed and nearly out—the fight, the butt of a rifle hitting Tony and then presumably her. She could feel the cool weight of metal around her wrists behind her back. She was sitting—on a rug? The air was conditioned and she could hear it coming from vents somewhere. Certainly not a typical interrogation set-up, then. But she could hear something clicking. The familiar sound of a knife opening and closing. She'd have to open her eyes to find out more. So she did.

A middle-aged man was sitting across the room from her. When he saw her eyes open, he focused on her. "Young lady. Can you speak?"

She looked around further. Tony was nowhere to be seen.

"Apologies for the shackles, we were worried about your state of mind."

"You were right to be," she snapped, "where is Tony?"

"Remain calm," the man said, condescendingly. "I promise you and Agent DiNozzo will soon be reunited." He took out a cigar, talked about it a while, but Ziva was focused on the room, on the tension in the cuffs, on the likelihood that he'd leave her alone long enough to escape them.

A knock on the door drew her attention, and a guard entered, announcing Vance, and for the second time in recent memory, Ziva felt the sinking sensation of losing faith in those in command.

Tony entered and she gasped in relief. "Tony, what's going on?"

He knelt to release her. "I am not entirely sure," he answered, his tone revealing the same betrayal she felt.

The sight of his injuries riled her further; it was one thing to have information withheld that might have protected her, but Tony—

Tony confirmed her fear. "They knew we were coming."

"They were in on it, too?"

"I don't know about too—apparently," Tony sighed in pain, "we didn't get the full picture."

Ziva's mind whirled with anger. They had done no more than follow orders, been loyal, and they'd been set up. Her mood only darkened as Tony identified the man with her earlier as the Secretary of the Navy. "Someone's lying to us," Tony said, and Ziva nodded tightly. There had better be answers, and soon.

She was still angry an hour later when they arrived back at her apartment. Gibbs had told them next to nothing and sent them home to bed like children. "There is no good reason that we could not know. We would have been more useful, and I at least am a good actress," Ziva ranted to Tony as they went inside.

"Hey, me too," Tony came back.

"An actress?" Ziva smirked.

He rolled his eyes, her humor not overcoming his frustration. "You know what I mean. It must have been Lee, and if they wanted me to feed her more or less information than I did over pizza, they only had to ask. It's not as if lying to Lee would have bothered us."

Ziva chuckled as she crossed the living room to the bathroom and passed Tony a tube of antibiotic ointment and a box of band-aids. Next she wet a hand towel and began wiping at the dried blood on her face, then Tony's.

"It was Lee, right?" Tony asked.

"Gibbs did seem to confirm that it was someone close to us, and she is the obvious choice," Ziva responded, settling a bandage across Tony's eyebrow.

"Do you have any beer?" he asked.

Ziva rolled her eyes. "We may both have concussions. I, at least, am too tired not to sleep, but no alcohol."

Tony shrugged and cocked his head as she started tending to her own injuries, still puzzling out the situation. "What could possibly be gained by keeping us in the dark?" he asked harshly.

She had no answer. They stared at each other, turning the question over in their minds.

The phone rang.

Ziva jumped and dashed back into to the living room.

The caller ID was a foreign number, so she answered in Hebrew. "Shalom."

"Shalom, Ziva," Michael answered.

Ziva gestured to Tony with her head that she was taking the phone in the other room, and walked into her bedroom.

"How are you?" she asked, still speaking Hebrew.

"Well," Michael answered amiably. "Nothing to report, I just thought I'd call and see how your day way."

She found herself smiling, though the expression faded as she answered. "It was a bad one. We got sent into what we thought was a war game, but we were pawns in the game, not admirals as we'd been told. My boss lied to us from the start, and he's the most trustworthy man I've known—it's been quite a frustrating day."

"Of course," Michael answered, consoling, "This is how I've come to feel about Mossad—that orders are never as straightforward as they appear, that we must question and evaluate them for ourselves before giving our obedience."

Michael's words stopped her cold, engendering instant rejection, but as she opened her mouth to say so, Ziva found that what he'd said also made total sense to her. Instead of discussing the matter further, she moved on, rambling about their plans, their camaraderie as they set up the op. "I suppose the best part of our day was getting into the facility—we planned it out to the slightest detail, coming up with impossible things to throw around for the staff there beforehand, manticores, ghosts...the confusion on the man's face when we all said unicorns..." she laughed.

"I'm not sure I get it," Michael answered, confused, but she couldn't find the words to explain.

"Never mind. I had better go, though, I have to calm my partner down. He's still angry over this."

"Isn't it late there?" Michael asked, his tone tinged with jealousy.

"We just finished the mission," Ziva responded defensively. "I have to go. I'll talk to you soon," she added, softening her voice.

"Goodnight then, Ziva," Michael said, still tense but sincere.

"Goodnight."

She returned to the living room, setting the phone back in its cradle.

Tony was laying on the sofa, mellowed by injury and exhaustion. "Who was that?"

"My father," Ziva lied even before considering her response. There would be too many questions if she told the truth. "There's no saying no when he wants to talk."

Tony nodded. "Mine's like that, too." His eyes were falling shut.

"You'd better sleep here," Ziva said, crossing to the living room closet and taking out a blanket.

"Alright," Tony said, kicking his shoes off onto the floor. He glanced at his watch as he set it on the table and groaned as he looked at the time. "We have to be at work in five hours."

Ziva shrugged, smiled. "You know what they say about well-rested NCIS agents."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Like unicorns," she whispered animatedly, and was rewarded with a laugh. She threw him a pillow, which Tony caught and tucked beneath his head.

"Goodnight, Ziva," Tony said as she rolled off and started to drift off."

"Goodnight," she answered for the second time that night. As she finished cleaning herself up in the bathroom and finally crawled into bed, she continued to puzzle over Michael's words. Her whole life had been about following orders, but since Ari died she'd questioned them more and more—from Mossad. Was it even necessary to question Gibbs?

***

The whole next day seemed to be about keeping Tony from exploding with the anger that returned as soon as she roused him, earlier than he'd like, from restless sleep on her couch. She was angry too, but it was Tony who seemed determined to blow his career over feeling betrayed once, and Ziva couldn't sympathize with such foolishness.

By mid-morning, she could no longer contain him, but she followed him into the elevator anyway, trying to settle him down.

"I like the job, I don't like the politics," Tony snapped. "I wasn't kidding about that part earlier."

Finally Ziva was exasperated. "If you had had some military training then perhaps you would have learned to follow orders," she answered angrily.

"What, like you? We were given a direct order not to engage. I recall that you were the first one to throw a punch." He raised the volume of the conversation further.

"It was a reflex."

"Hm, really? Then what happened after? Last thing I remember before the lights went out was you kimbo-slicing through a room full of guards. Was that a reflex?" Tony was yelling now, so Ziva did the same.

"Yes! It was. Gun shot went off, I saw you--" She cut herself off. He'd pushed her to something she hadn't even admitted to herself: her loyalty to Tony outweighed her blind obedience to orders. The realization sent her mind reeling.

"I'm tired of pretending," Tony said wearily.

His words summed up her feelings, even if she couldn't give the feelings names. "So am I."

Tony stalked out of the elevator with another irritated remark, but Ziva didn't move. She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to compose her face. A dozen things were in her mind, though Tony realized none of them. She felt like she was pretending all the time now, pretending to her father that she and Michael didn't doubt him, pretending to Michael that she shared his affections, pretending even to Tony, since she couldn't tell him what she'd gotten involved in. But now, here, she had found the make-believe that defined her life: Ziva David, perfect soldier. She wasn't that person, hadn't been in a while if she admitted it. But without that, she didn't know who she was.

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A/N The continuation, following Dagger, should be up tomorrow. Hope you like!


	6. Dagger

**Pivotal Moments**

Author's Note: Chapter 6 follows Dagger (6x09). The last one was Cloak, of course, my brain had a glitch and I typed it in wrong yesterday.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

**November 2008: DC**

Gibbs sent them out to search for Michelle's daughter, and by the time they got to the region they were to search, Tony's rage had been replaced by bemusement. "How can you work with somebody for three years and not know they have a kid?" he asked, pondering Michelle's situation.

Ziva shrugged. "Just because you work with someone every day does not mean you know everything about them."

"Really? Then I shouldn't know about that tattoo on the inside of your--"

She cut him off. "I meant I can understand someone wanting to keep their personal and professional lives separate—as should you. It did not end very well when you fell in love when you were undercover, did it?" She pushed the conversation too personal so he wouldn't ask about her own love life. Whatever was going on there lately, she didn't want to share with him.

"Thanks for the memory," he said acidly.

They started walking into the woods; Ziva carefully swept her eyes back and forth over the foliage, looking for sights that a scared child had traveled through here.

After a moment, Tony started talking again. "So, tell me what I don't know about you."

She darted a glance at him, suppressing the urge to freeze, then nonchalantly resumed her tracking.

"What are your hopes and dreams, Ziva David?" Tony deepened his voice like a sports announcer and Ziva smiled.

She cocked her head, thinking of what might shock him—and what would keep the conversation clear of Michael. "My dream? Well, I am content with my profession. But I would like to have a family."

She surprised Tony so badly that he stopped walking. "Really?"

Ziva smiled tightly. "Really."

"Well, why not shack up with somebody, pop out a couple little buggers?" Tony was half teasing, half serious.

She turned to look at him. "Tony, at this moment we are searching for the child of an NCIS agent who was manipulated into giving away state secrets to protect the child's well-being."

"Ziva, you're a far cry from being Michelle Lee."

Now Ziva stopped. "I would do anything, I think to protect my child."

"Well, any parent would, I suppose..."

She shook her head and started walking again. "Not my father. Before Tali died, there were threats made against him, against our family. It was not a random suicide bombing."

"Ziva." He reached his hand out toward her shoulder, but she took a quicker step, evading him without seeming to.

"I suppose that is the other reason I have not had a child. I might be like him."

"But he loves you, of course," Tony protested. "He didn't take that threat seriously, but--"

"No." Ziva cut him off. "He was always impatient with us, and withdrawn, and if we acted up he'd beat us. I honestly don't believe he would ever negotiate for our safe return."

Tony shrugged, unwilling to argue further on behalf of a stranger, not against Ziva. They walked in silence a moment, the Tony said, "I really didn't know that about you." He sounded almost sad.

Ziva glanced at him again. "No one knows anyone completely, Tony. Not who they are, not what they will do—even if you think you do, everyone is constantly in flux, constantly changing."

He looked right into her face, then sighed and looked around at the forest. "Yesterday I'd have argued with you, that there are some people—Gibbs, Abby—who we know well. But after last night..."

Rather than dwell on the chaos in their lives, Ziva broke in with a joke. "You really think we know anything about Gibbs?" she teased him.

Tony grinned.

"For all we know, he can breathe under water and has slept with every red head in the district," she went on.

Tony was laughing now. "He's built a flotilla and stores it in the attic," he got out between breaths.

Ziva tilted her head back and laughed. It felt good. "He--" She broke off. "Look! A ribbon there on that branch."

They knelt to examine the evidence, their light mood fading as they were reminded of the danger Amanda might be in. As they continued through the woods, they kept their thoughts to themselves.

Ziva hadn't articulated it to herself before, but she did sympathize with Lee. She couldn't really imagine herself parenting like her father, but the opposite seemed plausible. And certainly she could be a far more powerful weapon in the hands of criminals than most agents. She wondered, in passing, if that was the only way, now, that anyone could get her to blindly follow directions.

Later, prepping Lee for the transfer of information, Ziva asked softly, "You've plead your case with everyone else, why not me?"

"I'm done trying to explain," Lee said miserably. "No one understands."

"I do."

Lee's head jerked toward her in surprise. "You would do what I did."

Ziva gave her a small smile in answer, adjusting the wires under Lee's clothes. "That too tight?"

"It's fine," Michelle said quickly. "Thank you." Then, hesitantly, she asked, "I'm never going to see my daughter again, am I?"

Ziva paused, wondering whether Lee would be more or less likely to go through with this if she knew the truth. Then she dismissed the question. Lee had held up through far more than they'd imagined in the last few months. "Probably not," she answered softly.

And Lee walked briskly inside, belying Ziva's fears. She knew that when you have to follow orders, when they can make you do anything, it led to something like this: Lee facing her own death or her sister's, never able to make a choice in the matter. So she tried to give Lee some solace. Because if she had been in her father's place, she really would have done anything to save her sister.

Ziva forced a smile as she held the door of her apartment open. "Come in, sweetie," she said softly to Amanda. The girl was staggering with exhaustion as she crossed the threshold. The sleeping pills were lingering in her system, making her too groggy to ask questions yet, but the paramedics had said she'd be alright once she slept, so Ziva had asked Gibbs to let her take the girl home. He'd seemed surprised, but said yes without pressing the matter.

Amanda looked up at her wearily, and Ziva put her hand on the girl's shoulder, steering her to the couch, which was still draped with the blanket Tony had used the night before. Amanda laid down at once, resting her head on the pillow and closing her eyes. Ziva opened her mouth to tell her she should eat, should brush her teeth, all the motherly directives she remembered from childhood, but she didn't speak. She found she didn't want to do anything to make the child wake up, for fear that then she'd start to ask questions about her sister, her captor—questions Ziva didn't want to answer.

As Amanda's breathing slipped into the regularity of sleep, Ziva settled in a chair opposite the couch. She remembered the day of Tali's death as the worst day of her life: her first encounter with grief. Amanda has already lost her parents, so at least there would be some familiarity with the emotion, but to be suddenly an orphan, and for the second time in her life, seemed more than such a small child could handle.

Ziva found her own head sagging under the weight of two days of intense emotion and endeavor. Her sadness over Lee's death was only one new facet of the maelstrom of conflict that took up residence in her mind when she began to relax. The way she had been raised, as a weapon, required someone to wield her. But her trust had been so shaken in recent months that Ziva was no longer sure who would be loyal to her in turn if she gave her allegiance to them. Her father's lack of trust she could endure, because she knew at some level that it was valid; she no longer had the blind loyalty to MOSSAD that had defined her early career. As her director, she knew he could even justify sending her into Morocco with incomplete information. But Gibbs—she knew she had earned his trust, had never given him cause to doubt her commitment.

The phone rang and she snatched it from its cradle before it could wake Amanda. "Shalom."

"Shalom, Ziva," Michael said warmly. "Have I called too late?" he continued in Hebrew.

"No. I just came in," she answered, her voice soft.

Michael chuckled. "It is nearly 6 AM here; I only just got back from running."

She smiled. There were certainly moments where she appreciated the similarity of their training, their worldviews. "You are still in Tel Aviv?"

"No. Cairo—we believe men pertinent to the mission are working in Africa. It is blistering hot, too hot to sleep and far too hot to run long, so I thought I'd call and see how you are."

Ziva smiled. "I remember the heat well. I am...exhausted," she laughed. "I find now I haven't slept in recent memory. But how is the mission?" she asked, courteous.

Michael paused. "The contacts Mossad put me in touch with seem...unreliable. I do not have relationship with them, and I doubt their intentions. But if I question them to your father, there may be trouble. Instead I edited my report to show that there are practical problems with using them."

Ziva didn't respond for a moment. She could imagine how fear might lead to disobedience; she knew better how Michael was feeling because she let her concern for Tony outweigh Gibbs' voice in her ear, she who had never been emotional.

"I really must sleep," she said when she realized she'd lapsed into silence unintentionally. "But be safe, Michael. I lost a—a friend, today. An agent. I don't want to lose any more."

"I'm so sorry," Michael said gently. "You take care of yourself, too."

They whispered their good-nights and Ziva pulled herself up from the chair, gazing at Amanda's sleeping form for another long moment before checking all the locks in the apartment and collapsing into bed herself.

The next morning, she watched as Gibbs told Amanda about her sister's death, reliving Tali's death: the horror of it, the fury at knowing it might have been prevented. Amanda didn't have that to bear, not yet at least. The memory filled Ziva with defiance of her father, and she wondered why she had gone through so much of her life unquestioning. At any rate, she was not his soldier anymore.


	7. Roadkill

**Pivotal Moments**

Same disclaimer: not mine. This chapter follows Roadkill (6x10). Ziva finds herself in a moment of silliness that illustrates what she has in common with the men in her life. The character Rebekah, who appears briefly in this chapter, is my own construction and first appears in the first chapter of this piece.

_________________________________________________________________

**December 2008: DC**

Ziva thought she heard a footstep and spun around in her chair. Two agents she didn't know were waiting by the elevator. She rolled her eyes at her own alarm and turned back to her computer monitor.

She was surprised to find she lacked the confidence Tony and McGee had that let them post pictures of themselves online. Confidence in their own silliness. But just looking at the picture she'd taken of herself air-guitaring made her smile. Tony had been right when he said that here, in his world, she could be silly or stupid without worrying about the consequences. And she was surprised how good it felt.

Ziva opened an email and attached the file, then stared at the empty "to" box. If she could be sure Tony would be in proud friend mode, she'd send it right away, but if he was feeling sarcastic—she didn't quite have the surety of her own stupidity to send it anyway. She'd have to show it to him in person, when the mood was right. Instead, she hesitantly typed in Michael and Rebekah's email addresses. They came from her world too, but hopefully they knew her well enough to appreciate the photo. She clicked send.

Her inbox dinged with new mail right away, and she rushed to turn down the speaker volume as the sound rang out in the empty bullpen.

_What the hell? _Michael had written.

Ziva felt a perplexed look cross her face. She scrolled down to her message: no words, just the picture of her jumping in the air, screaming, waving her arms. She laughed aloud, again breaking the quiet, as she realized that Michael was having the same reaction she'd had that morning—out of context, the picture was bizarre.

_I'm pretending to play the guitar,_ she send back.

Instead of emailing her further, Michael opened an instant message dialogue.

_Why are you pretending to play guitar? _He asked.

She smiled to herself as she tried to explain. _The men I work with have been competing all day to see who can do it best. It is for a website. I thought I'd try too._

_At work?_

The disdain in Michael's words was as clear as if he'd been speaking.

_We had some free time between cases, _she defended them. _And Americans are not like us in this way. They were raised differently. You must understand, they do not learn to be on the alert all the time—there is less to be on the alert for than in Israel. While some of their pursuits are puerile, it is enjoyable, I've found, to simply play every once in a while._

Michael took a while to respond.

_Well, just don't change too much, _he finally wrote.

_I won't_, Ziva typed. Then she hit the backspace key, erasing the words. She was changing, and she could hardly promise not to. Before she could come up with another response, Michael wrote her further.

_I find I have to be on the alert all the time now. I found out today that Mossad has had people trailing me, taking pictures of what I do during the day._

_That's not too unusual, _Ziva began to assure him. _My father was having me tracked when I first came to Washington for a while. Took photos of my partner coming over to my house and had one of his flunkies accuse me of sleeping with Tony!_

Again Michael didn't respond right away and Ziva wondered if it had been the wrong thing to say.

_I wasn't, of course,_ she added quickly.

_Don't worry,_ he finally answered, _there's no doubt in my mind that you would be with someone who could spend much of his day pretending to play guitar._

Now Ziva found herself defensive. Certainly she'd have said the same and more to DiNozzo, but Michael didn't know him the way she did.

_It was just for fun, _she typed, and hit the enter key angrily. She took a deep breath once it was sent. Reading it over, the words didn't contain the harshness she felt, but she supposed that was just as well. It occurred to her for the first time to wonder what would happen if she and Michael had a fight. Would he betray her skepticism about Mossad then?

_Fine, then_, Michael sent, as if he did sense her irritation and was backpedaling in order not to anger her. _I'm glad you had a good day._

_Thanks, _Ziva wrote back. And then, tired of talking to him, she signed off without a farewell. Her own defense of this behavior surprised her, though as she calmed she acknowledged that she was defending Tony and McGee, her friends, and that she knew she would do to the death.

Her mood was dampened as Ziva gathered her coat and bags to go home, but as she reached for the computer to turn it off, her email dinged once again. She could feel herself tense as she went to read it, but instantly relaxed when she saw it was Rebekah who'd written her.

_Reminds me of this... _was the entire text of the email. Ziva quirked her eyebrows in confused a moment before opening the attachment Rebekah had sent. She laughed when she saw it: a moment captured years earlier, from the time just after Tali's death when Rebekah had taken her out, often and in many countries, to karaoke bars for camaraderie and alcohol and the music that seemed to restore some small about of joy to her bearing. In this particular picture, Ziva was gesticulating wildly with one arm, while the other held the microphone seductively close to her mouth. Her hair was untamed, her clothing vaguely french—Ziva wondered what the song had been. A smile transformed her as she gazed at it. There had been a time when she'd had fun. She wasn't quite sure when it had passed, but it was reassuring to think she wasn't as different from her friends as all that.

Before turning the computer off, Ziva printed the picture, as well as the one she'd taken earlier, and slipped them into Tony's desk, laying them in the drawer he'd open tomorrow morning to lay his gun while he worked. She couldn't wait to see his reaction. She only hoped Gibbs would be there to make Tony's reaction all the more amusing as he tried to stifle it.

As she slid the drawer shut, Ziva smiled once more. If this wasn't silliness, she didn't know what was, and she found herself glad she had come back to America long enough to learn this about herself, that she had the lingering capacity for light-heartedness.


	8. Silent Night

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N So, I looked at the traffic for this piece and realized that somehow two most recent chapters were read by a lot more people than the early ones. Which is fine, if you're more interested in the episodes those chapters are about, but chapters 2 and 4 have some pretty important details I invented about Michael and Ziva's interactions in Morocco and then when she visited him in Tel Aviv, so I'd suggest you check those out so the upcoming chapters make sense. A general synopsis so far, just to keep everyone on the same page:

Chapter 1—post-Hiatus, Rebekah and Ziva in Tel Aviv

Chapter 2—Last Man Standing, Ziva and Michael in Morocco

Chapter 3—Agent Afloat, Ziva and Tony in Colombia

Chapter 4—Nine Lives, Ziva and Michael in Israel

Chapters 5-6—Cloak/Dagger, Ziva in DC

Chapter 7—Roadkill, Ziva in DC

And now on to Chapter 8, around Silent Night, set in DC...

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**December 2008**

Ziva checked the place settings on the table one more time, surprised to find she was nervous. _Like a teen-aged girl on a date_, she mused.

The knock at the door startled her. She checked the peephole and smiled.

She opened the door wide to allow Michael inside. He set down his luggage, then turned to her with open arms. Ziva smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, enjoying the comfort of his embrace.

"Shalom," Michael said softly, pulling back far enough to kiss her on both cheeks, then once, longer, on the lips.

"Shalom." She turned with an arm outstretched. "Welcome."

Michael took in the apartment. "You have a nice place," he said warmly.

"Thank you," she answered softly. Then, stepping toward the kitchen, she smiled with pride. "Sit down, I made latkes."

Michael's face lit up with pleasure. "I'd almost forgotten it was Hanukah, I've been in Africa so long."

"Well, not until tomorrow night, really, but you'll be gone by then and it's close enough. And anyway, I love to make them."

He sat down at her table, watching her bustle to pull the latkes and brisket from where they'd been warming in the oven. In just minutes she had their feast spread out: meat, latkes, applesauce, salad, sauteed vegetables.

"This is incredible," Michael said, clearly impressed.

Ziva glowed. "I have not had anyone to cook a Hanukah meal for in a long time. I was excited to do it."

"Well, I'm excited to eat it," he answered honestly, and they settled in to eat.

An hour later, their dinner and a flourless chocolate cake consumed, ridiculous stories shared of favorite Hanukah gifts and menorah accidents, Ziva and Michael collapsed on her couch. Ziva leaned against him and Michael wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her against him as they lay in a sleepy, sated stupor.

Ziva stroked Michael's fingers where they rested against her skin. "So, you are headed to California from here?" she asked softly.

He sighed. "Yes. There are some people there who are involved with the men I have been pursuing in Africa. I have directions to begin a long undercover operation, ingratiating myself with this cell."

Ziva nodded. The operation was standard for this sort of situation.

"Also," Michael said nervously, "your father told me to be sure to stop and see you."

She twisted to look at him.

"He still wonders if your loyalties are unfaltering." He watched her carefully, saw the way her lips pursed in annoyance. "Is there anything I should tell him?"

Ziva shrugged and leaned back against him again, where he couldn't see her face. "If he wants to doubt me, he will do so regardless of what you say."

"I could give him some nonsense, to make him believe I'm getting close to you," Michael offered.

She sighed, then laughed. "Tell him I am loyal to Mossad but perhaps too flirty with the NCIS agents, then—it's harmless, and after what Bashan at the embassy told him a few years ago, he's sure to believe it."

"Alright," Michael answered quietly. He could still feel the tension in her body. "Is something wrong?"

After a moment of silence, Ziva turned in his arms. "Is that why you came here? Because he would know if you didn't?"

His eyes answered for him, full of affection. "Of course not." He slid one of his hands into her hair and pulled her close for a kiss. Finally the stiffness left her body, replaced by another kind of tension. Ziva pressed close to him, insecurity forgotten.

***

The next morning was Sunday, and Ziva woke late to find that she had forgotten to set the alarm in their rush to her bed. Michael had already left for his flight to the airport, but a wrapped package was sitting beside the menorah on her kitchen table. Inside she found an Egyptian scarf, beautifully colored and incredibly soft. She wrapped it around her shoulders in place of his arms as she set about her day. Ziva couldn't help wondering what it would be like to have a real relationship with Michael, or with anyone, where she could know that she'd have someone to celebrate holidays with, to fall asleep beside, to surprise her with presents that suited her tastes so well. Weeks ago, she'd discussed with Tony how she wanted to have a family some day, and it surprised her that Michael brought the desire so quickly to the forefront of her mind.

***

She was still thinking of settled life a few days later, sitting with Tony, staking out the Vietnam War Memorial. Always eager to break the silence of a stakeout, Ziva posed the question to Tony. "Do you ever regret not having a wife and kids—especially this time of year? Hanukah's all about family...is it not the same with Christmas?" she asked.

Tony avoided the question as thoroughly as he could, leaping out of the car to chase after a woman who was clearly not their target. Ziva watched him, amused. She expected Tony would be a good family man, indulgent and gentle with his children, and with his wife...well, that was a harder picture to imagine, but she thought he'd take to it.

After five minutes of hilariously trying to stalk an overweight woman in sweats, Tony returned to the car. Ziva didn't return to the same topic, but was surprised when Tony himself brought it up.

"Sure, Christmas is about family," Tony said as he slid into his seat. "But in the DiNozzo family, there are more traditions than just being together. When my mom was alive, the tradition was watching _It's a Wonderful Life _complete with homemade snacks--"

"Of course!" Ziva cut him off with a laugh. "Of course, a movie."

Tony grinned. "Well, sure." He sobered. "But after she died, we did whatever Dad's wives wanted to do for Christmas. Some of them liked the Church thing, some were all about presents and tinsel and trees, or caroling. I once had to be Joseph in a Christmas pageant. My step-sister was Mary, it was kind of creepy."

Ziva laughed again. "You are not going to be with your family for Christmas this year?"  
"Not at this rate," Tony answered sourly.

"Hey," she touched his arm to make him look over at her. "I have never seen _It's a Wonderful Life._"

Tony smiled. "Well, the way we'd do it, Dad would rent out the local independent theater after the Jews left on Christmas Day," he flinched as she smacked him in the arm, "and he and Mom and I would get the whole thing to ourselves. There's nothing like seeing it on the big screen."

"Well, maybe the director would let us borrow MTAC," Ziva suggested.

Tony's face lit up. "Now you're thinking like a DiNozzo!" he teased.

Ziva glared at him.

"No, I'm serious! I'm calling her right now." Tony grabbed for his cellphone and flipped it open to place the call. Ziva smiled fondly at his delight.

***

Around midnight that night, they all finally headed out of the Navy Yard, stuffed with popcorn, their toddies worn off enough for everyone to drive home, everyone's cheeks streaked with Abby's Christmas kisses.

Tony caught up to Ziva in the parking lot, calling out her name as she headed for her car. "Ziva!"

She turned toward him. A flake of snow landed on her cheek and she jumped, then tilted her head up to see more descending.

Tony reach her just as another settled on her nose and she twitched. He smiled. "I guess snow isn't an Israeli Hanukah tradition, huh?"

Ziva smiled, still looking up at it. "No."

Tony touched her shoulder, getting her attention. "Ziva."

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For suggesting this. It made Christmas a family event after all." He looked embarrassed by the words, but happy.

"I am glad," Ziva said softly.

"Anyway, I got you this," Tony said quickly, shoving a wrapped package into her hands.

Ziva raised her eyebrows in surprise. That evening, the team had exchanged gifts, and Tony had given everyone a copy of _It's a Wonderful Life_ already—she, in turn, had given him both the book and DVD of _Exodus_, demanding that he read it first.

Before she could comment on this second, surprise gift, Tony walked quickly toward his car, taking comically large steps to avoid getting the two-inch deep snow on his shoes. Ziva shook her head at him, and walked to her own car.

Sitting inside it, Ziva watched his headlights leaving the lot before she tore off the wrapping paper. When she saw what was inside, she grinned widely. Through three windows of the long, rectangular frame, she, Tony and McGee could be seen jumping wildly into the air, wailing on their invisible guitars. Ziva laughed out loud. The family resemblance was uncanny.


	9. Broken Bird

**Pivotal Moments**

This chapter falls after Broken Bird (6x13): As Ducky tries to deal with his views on torture, Ziva struggles with her own past actions. This chapter and the next fall less into the parallel story I've created about Ziva and Michael and are more like regular episode tags.

Also, thanks for the reviews so far! And yes, I've been watching too much season 4/5 and accidentally put the wrong director in the last chapter. Oh well, I don't really buy Vance letting the team watch movies in MTAC even if it did happen in the show.

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**January 2009: Washington DC**

Ziva glanced through the doors of Autopsy before stepping close enough to trigger them. "Ducky?" she asked softly as she entered.

He turned quickly from where he'd been standing at his desk. "Ziva," he said stoically by way of greeting.

She looked him over carefully. Since he'd returned from the Afghan Embassy two days earlier, he had not been restored to his usual good cheer. The events of that day had been weighing heavily on her mind, too.

"Did you need something?" Ducky asked brusquely.

Ziva forced a smile. "Could I make you a cup of tea?"

He opened his mouth as if to protest, but seemed to think better of it. Perhaps this woman, of all of them, could advise him best how to process what he'd done. He gestured with one hand toward the tea cozy, and looked silently back to his work as Ziva heated water for their tea.

After a few minutes she set the steaming mugs out and called him over. "Ducky, come drink with me."

He settled on a stool across from her at one of the tables. "We might do better with bourbon," he said harshly.

"Ducky," Ziva began. "I have interrogated people in my career, and much more harshly than Gibbs does."

"Yes, my dear, but not innocent children," Ducky spat.

Ziva shrugged. "It can be hard to draw the line between what is acceptable and what is not."

Ducky deflated. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make light of what you've done, Ziva, but I'm not responsible for _your_ actions."

"Yes Ducky," Ziva leapt at the point, "but circumstances forced yours."

"What's the point, Ziva?" Ducky asked. "There's no forgiving it, just living with it."

Ziva nodded once, then looked away, and Ducky finally paid attention long enough to realize something was bothering her, as well. "Ziva, what is it?"

She looked back at him. "Your actions I can understand, and my own—well, I know that any pain I inflicted was against those who would have hurt others and for the purpose of preventing the suffering of innocent people. I feel no true remorse for that. But in the past few days I could not help thinking—there are many people I have been close to in my life, in Mossad, who take torture very lightly. Of foreign operatives, of terrorists—and sometimes of witnesses, relatives of those who would act against Israel. And others, too, who use psychological tortures against the innocent, creating false relationships and using them for information."

"Tony?" Ducky asked.

Ziva looked at him, surprised. "What?"

"Like Tony, a few years ago," Ducky pointed out.

"Oh," Ziva answered. "I wasn't thinking of him."

"Do you blame him?" Ducky asked curiously.

She shook her head. "He wasn't laying out that op, the director was. Tony just followed orders. A...friend of mine is setting up an op right now, he's seducing this young woman to get close to people she knows who are probably terrorists--"

"A friend?" Ducky asked eagerly, teasingly, jumping—Ziva thought—right to the least relevant part.

"A man I know from Mossad," she said delicately. "Anyway--"

"And you're close?" Ducky followed up, "because that could certainly change your judgment of his seducing someone."

She sighed. He wasn't wrong. Two months ago, she wouldn't have called getting close to someone under false pretenses 'torture'; she would have laughed at anyone who had. "I simply meant to say that your experience has made me question those who take the pain of innocent people lightly, whether physical or psychological pain."

Ducky nodded. "I have the luxury of coming from a much more secure world than you do, Ziva, where I can believe that such abuse of citizens is unjustifiable."

Ziva pursed her lips, staring down into her tea cup.

"However," Ducky offered, "I imagine that for those in your line of work, it can seem unavoidable, and we must judge those who employ it by their intent as well as their actions."

"You think it matters that Michael feels guilty for abusing this girl's trust?"

Ducky's eyebrows arched at hearing his name, but he could see how tense Ziva was so he resisted teasing. "I think it separates him from a man who caused pain simply for the sake of causing pain and fear in those around him."

She nodded, relaxing a touch.

"But," Ducky continued, and Ziva's eyes jerked back to him, "like you said before—it's about drawing lines. And you must draw them for yourself, my dear." He tilted his head, evaluating her. "And there are other lines to draw about the type of people we get involved with, whom we find worthy of our own trust."

Ziva looked at him warily.

Ducky's cellphone rang on his desk, and he jumped up to answer it. Ziva could hear the sudden warmth in his tone as he greeted Jordan, and she smiled, slipping off the stool and slinking out the doors of Autopsy to give him some privacy. She didn't want to talk about this anymore, anyway. In the weeks since Michael had gotten settled in California, he'd kept her informed about his attentions to the younger sister of one cell member, but while she knew his actions were standard operating protocol, they also bothered her.

She hadn't made the connection to Tony, she thought as she stepped into the elevator, but Ducky was right, it was similar. Men using women. And in neither situation could she be sure that her judgment of their actions wasn't colored just a bit by her own feelings. But for now there was nothing she could do, nothing short of reporting Michael's disloyalty and getting him killed, anyway.

Ziva got out of the elevator in the bullpen and looked across to where McGee and Tony were laughing, Gibbs approaching stealthily from behind them. She smiled, then the smile faded from her face. She'd started to tell Ducky, but she knew that he would condemn her, too: she had done such awful things herself, tortured men and women in ways that cross lines she has since drawn for herself. It bothered her deeply, but there was no way to explain it to these people, not even Gibbs, though she assumed he could guess if he took the time to think about it. It was almost intolerable to remember the person she'd been, the person her father had made her to be.

"Ziva!" Tony waved her over to hear the joke, unknowing that Gibbs was two feet behind him.

She smiled at both of them, walking toward their desks. She much preferred it here, preferred who she was here. She only wished that her life was not still lived under her father's watchful eye.

__________________________________________________________________

An index of earlier chapters, for your perusing pleasure:

Chapter 1—post-Hiatus, Rebekah and Ziva in Tel Aviv

Chapter 2—Last Man Standing, Ziva and Michael in Morocco

Chapter 3—Agent Afloat, Ziva and Tony in Colombia

Chapter 4—Nine Lives, Ziva and Michael in Israel

Chapters 5-6—Cloak/Dagger, Ziva in DC

Chapter 7—Roadkill, Ziva in DC

Chapter 8—Silent Night, DC

Chapter 9—Broken Bird, Ziva and Ducky


	10. Bounce

**Pivotal Moments**

This chapter is a tag for Bounce (6x16).

_________________________________________________________________

**February 2009: Washington DC**

"Tony couldn't catch him." Gibbs tossed the comment over his shoulder as he crossed the bullpen, heading up to report to the director.

Ziva sat with her mouth hanging open in surprise. Couldn't catch him? It wasn't that hard to have an airport stop a plane before it had taken off. As the meaning of Gibbs' statement dawned on her, Ziva looked at Tony's desk with startled...pride? Was that it?

He had recognized his mistakes today and apologized for them, hadn't thrown up a shield of bravado to cover his missteps. She didn't know many men who could to that.

The pride was followed by contrition. She knew that for all Tony's charms, he was usually covering for wanting desperately to please, desperately not to fail. Today he had done so, and she and McGee hadn't helped with their teasing.

When Gibbs returned to from Vance's office, Ziva asked casually when Tony would be back.

"He went home," Gibbs said shortly. He glanced at the clock. "It's late, you can go too if you'd like."

Ziva nodded and gathered her things. On the way home, she stopped and scoured the video rental store for the movie she wanted, grinning when she found it. And twenty minutes later, she was knocking at his door.

"Ziva," Tony said, surprised, as he opened the door. "What brings you here?"

He was slurring his words slightly, and Ziva could smell the alcohol on his breath. Ziva frowned. "Are you alright, Tony?" she asked seriously.

"I sent a man to prison," he answered harshly, sitting down on his couch and proffering a beer.

She shook her head. "But I hear he miraculously escaped." She smiled knowingly.

Tony shrugged. "He lost three years of his life."

Ziva sighed. She hadn't realized how much he still turned to drinking.

"So, did you come to watch me drink?"

Ziva jerked slightly in surprise at how closely he'd guessed her thoughts. "Tony, I wanted to say...I'm sorry for today. Somehow we fell back into the pattern from that first case, resisting your authority and...resenting it a little bit. The way that case got screwed up was partly our fault too, and we should have stayed off of yours. And," she paused, "you are a very good agent. No matter what happened today."

Tony tilted his head back to rest against the couch, not making eye contact. "You apologized after that case, too."

Ziva smiled slightly. "I brought the same movie."

Tony looked up at her, smiling a little manically. "_The Jerk_?"

She nodded.

"Hah!" He stood and snatched it out of her hands. "This was one of my favorites when I was a kid."

"I know," she said quietly.

Tony turned to her, calming. "Thanks," he said.

She shrugged. "No problems," she answered, making the mistake on purpose to get Tony further back to normal.

"_Problem,_ Ziva. No _problem,_" he enunciated as he crossed to the kitchen and picked up the phone, dialing for pizza or Chinese food, she assumed.

Ziva grinned. At least she knew how to make things right with Tony.

He came back after a moment and set up the movie, aping along with Steve Martin as they watched. Ziva found herself laughing harder than she had in months.

Halfway through, when they 'd finally wiped the grease from the pizza off their fingers and gone back into watching, Ziva's phone vibrated in her pocket, causing her to jump up. Tony laughed, startled, as she sprang up.

Ziva checked the caller. Michael. She took a deep breath. Every call in the last two weeks had been about his undercover op, his young lover, his increasing distrust of Mossad and even of her that she worried was more paranoid than rational at this point. She didn't want to deal with that right now, not here with Tony. She turned her phone off and slipped back down onto the couch.

By the time the movie had ended and Tony was making his way methodically through the DVD's special features, Ziva was exhausted. Taking an intimacy she rarely did with Tony, she let herself lean against his shoulder. Fortunately there was no crack about sleepy ninjas or sarcasm about her feelings for him. He smiled down at her and shifted his arm around her, letting her curl into his side, like they weren't who they were to each other, like she was a woman to him.

His fingers settled at her waist, unconsciously dancing over her skin a second before stilling, and suddenly Ziva was awake, her body deliciously aware of his nearness. She tried not to react in any way he'd notice, surprised her own self that after years of friendship and with a man in her life, she'd find her pulse racing like this. There was no way she could separate herself now without Tony thinking something of it, she she rested more fully against him, let her eyes fall half shut with the sleepiness that was returning.

She could remember Rebekah teasing her, all those months ago, about having feelings for Tony. She'd dismissed the idea at the time, but right now she was both more comfortable and more excited than she could remember being with Michael, and Ziva found herself a bit alarmed at the realization.

The credits rolled on the last documentary segment, and Ziva started to sit up, but Tony's hand caught her shoulder, kept her turned toward him. She looked up at him, a little wary. He turned off the TV with his other hand and set the remote down.

"Ziva," Tony started. "Thanks for what you said before."

He'd sobered by now and she knew he was serious.

"I meant it." Ziva smiled wickedly. "You were not even _so_ much of a peacock."

Tony snorted. "Good to know." He released her and stood, stretching and sighing. "Bed time, I guess."

Ziva nodded. "Good night," she said, slipping her coat on.

She turned to leave but Tony tugged her arm, pulling her into a hug. She slid her arms around his waist, holding on to him.

"We should do this more often, like we used to," Tony mumbled into her hair.

"We should," Ziva replied softly, then stepped back, toward the door.

"Night, Ziva," Tony said as she left, and she smiled a good bye.

Once in her car, Ziva turned her phone back on. She had two new voice-mails, probably from Michael. Ziva sighed and closed the phone again before turning on the car and heading home. For the first time she found herself regretting everything she'd shared with Michael about her own insecurities with Mossad—he knew enough about her to make a royal mess if she didn't continue to seem supportive. And she was beginning to wonder how much longer she could sustain the act.


	11. Knockout

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N This one is a tag for Knockout (6x18): Tara gets Ziva thinking.

____________________________________________________________________

**March 2009: DC**

Ziva looked Tara over carefully, wondering what she'd said that had Tony so jittery he'd practically run out of the room when she'd come to take over. It was no secret that strong women intimidated Tony, strong and sexy women even more—but Ziva generally preferred to be the one intimidating Tony.

Tara glanced over and saw Ziva watching her, raised her eyebrows as if to ask why she was so interested.

"And what is it you do?" Ziva asked Tara politely.

Tara glanced sideways coyly, then back at Ziva. "Let's just say I take care of men."

Ziva nodded, not flustered in the least, all the more sure that Tara could have sent Tony reeling in a matter of seconds. Tara tilted her head questioningly. "You, too?"

"Not for this job," Ziva said delicately.

"So who is it you're taking care of these days?" Tara asked coquettishly.

Ziva opened her mouth to say no one, but it wasn't exactly true. Michael had flown out to meet her in Chicago the weekend before. He had become increasingly annoying long-distance, with his near daily phone calls and paranoia that she was reporting to her father no matter what she said, but having him close had turned out to be an entirely different story. They'd been involved long enough now that he knew what would make her laugh, knew just how to touch her--

Rather than try to explain, she opened her phone to the pictures she'd taken of him in the hotel that night, teasing him that a 12 year-old girl they'd brought whose cellphone had been used in a crime had pictures of _her_ boyfriend on her phone.

Tara studied the picture a moment, then looked back up at Ziva. "Good looking guy, you two serious?"

Ziva shrugged. "He does not live here. He travels a lot."

"Long distance relationships are impossible," Tara responded knowingly.

"Relationship? I do not know." It was a question she'd rather avoid. She knew Michael thought of what was between them as a relationship, but she'd started out thinking of him as her partner, in Mossad and then in their duplicity. Even now, she wondered if her time with Michael had any emotional meaning for her like it seemed to for him.

"Maybe you should be looking for something a little closer to home," Tara said suggestively.

Ziva paused, trying to come up with a response that didn't admit that she still wondered once in a while what her relationship with Tony meant as well.

Fortunately, Vance knocked and entered, then relieved her. As Ziva slipped into the hallway, she was surprised to find that Tony hadn't been the only one thrown by Tara's presence today.

***

She didn't have another moment alone with Tara until late that night, at the safe house.

"So, what's Tony like as a partner?" Tara asked calmly.

Ziva glanced at her. The woman clearly had ulterior motives, and was making no secret about it. She gave the most obvious answer. "He's competent, but very playful—almost childish."

"And is that all?"

Ziva forced herself not to squirm under the other woman's gaze. "Why do you ask?"

Tara shrugged blithely. "After talking to him for a while, it seemed like he was having trouble with women these days, so I thought I'd scope out any interested parties."

Ziva pursed her lips. Could she really have missed something like this? She had been preoccupied with Michael, she supposed...

"Would you be?"

"I'm sorry?" Ziva glanced up, surprised.

"Interested." Tara raised her eyebrows.

Ziva paused a moment, evaluating her possible responses. "I told you I'm seeing someone," she said slowly, as nonchalantly as she could. She glanced at the window. "I must check in with McGee," she said, rising and moving to look out. "I will be down by the car." She let herself out without turning around. She could almost feel Tara's smirk as she left.

In the chillier air of the night, Ziva caught her breath, waving McGee inside once he'd reported no change in street traffic—and that Tara had teased Tony about the condom in his wallet having expired. McGee shook his head as if confused, but after he went upstairs Ziva found herself musing on Tara's insights.

Tony had certainly matured over the years she'd known him, and he hadn't talked about women by name since Jeanne, but she knew he went on dates fairly frequently—he still told them when he had plans, with that irritating smirk, and she knew his body language more than well enough to know he wasn't lying. So was it really possible he wasn't having any luck? Ziva jumped as the phone in her pocket vibrated, and she pulled it out, sure Tony had caught her thinking about him. No such luck: Michael. She pushed the button to still the phone but didn't answer it. She was on duty, she told herself. She couldn't be distracted right now.

***

The next day, Tara safely headed back to Chicago, Ziva found herself headed down to Autopsy to pass some papers along to Ducky.

"And they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks!" Ducky was telling Palmer as she entered.

"Is your mother teaching the Corgis tricks, Doctor?" Ziva asked.

He turned. "No, my dear, Jordan is teaching me to Salsa." Ducky danced a few steps across the floor, taking Ziva's papers and setting them down before twirling her across the room.

"Not bad," she said, laughing, when they stopped, "for an old dog."

He laughed. "Here, I have pictures!" He waved for Palmer to pass the stack back and the younger man grinned affectionately as he passed the photographs to Ziva. She smiled as she glanced through them, at Ducky and Jordan, in a kilt and a ballgown respectively, dancing together.

"And when do we get to see your friend?" Ducky asked teasingly.

Ziva smiled. "It just so happens..." She pulled out her cellphone and held it out to Palmer. He pulled the pictures up and she chuckled as he and Ducky crowded around the tiny screen.

"Not bad," Palmer said, clearly impressed by the shirtless picture of Michael.

"Most impressive," Ducky said, raising a lascivious eyebrow at Ziva.

She smiled and held out her hand for her phone. "Here are your photographs, Ducky."

Palmer returned the phone to her, in turn.

The doors to Autopsy swished open, and Tony entered.

"What's up?" he called over to the group.

"We were just sharing pictures of our significant others," Ducky called back.

Ziva tensed, but before she could choose either fight or flight, Palmer whirled and headed out the side door.

Ducky sighed. "He still gets upset sometimes about Michelle, I forgot."

Tony looked confused. "Then who did you mean by 'we' when you said--" Before he could finish, Ziva brushed past him and left as well.

Ducky looked up at Tony nervously. "Never mind, Tony. What did you need?"

From the doorway, Ziva caught Tony's businesslike answer and relaxed. She knew there was something wrong with her instinctive secrecy about Michael when it came to Tony, but she also knew she didn't want think too hard about it. Nor did she want to think about the flutter in her stomach when the elevator doors had opened that morning to reveal Tony standing a touch too close to Tara. The woman was gone, but the questions she'd asked lingered unpleasantly in Ziva's mind.


	12. Hide and Seek

**Pivotal Moments**

Okay, folks, at this point in the season of tags I had to decide whether or not to follow canon exactly, and give you something that might be insightful but was unsurprising, or try to reinterpret the events of the last handful of episodes. I went with the latter. This chapter will seem decidedly AU, but I think I can fit it all into canon in the end. See what you think...

Chapter 12 is a tag for Hide and Seek—Ziva tells Tony what caused her to back into a stone wall.

___________________________________________________________________

Previously, in Chapter 4:

_"Director David asked me, while I'm in America, to keep an eye on you. To monitor your loyalties," Michael said._

_Ziva wasn't sure what she felt in that first moment, processing Michael's words, but she was sure it wasn't surprise. She knew her father was bothered by her ties to NCIS, knew that if she weren't his daughter she would never have been reassigned where someone else held such influence over her. She nodded slowly. "He asked me to do the same."_

_"What?" Michael was startled._

_"He asked me to watch you, gauge your commitment to MOSSAD."_

_"When? Why didn't you tell me?" Michael burst out before reigning in his emotions._

_Ziva watched him closely, answered slowly. "The last morning, before I left to return to the States. Not," she emphasized, "before Morocco. I have not relayed any of our communication to him—I didn't tell you because there didn't seem a reason to. If you'd been too concerned about watching your words, they would have suspected you all the more."_

_Michael nodded acceptance, but he held himself rigidly upright in unconsciously military posture, and Ziva could tell he was still bothered._

_"I told you now," she pointed out._

_"So what do we do?" Michael asked softly. "Trust each other or guard ourselves against the slightest slip of the tongue?"_

_"Well, I've got your back," she said softly._

_____________________________________________________________________  
_

**March 2009**

As she slammed the door and reached to buckle her seat-belt, Ziva's phone rang. She flipped it open without looking to see who was calling. "David."

"Ah, Agent David," Michael said warmly.

"Michael! Shalom," Ziva answered, surprised. She slid the key into the ignition, hoping this would be quick.

"Do you have a minute?" Michael asked seriously.

Ziva pulled the key back out. "Sure."

Michael sighed.

"Well?" she asked.

"Ziva, I fear I am becoming too close to this mission."

She tensed. "What do you mean?"

"The men in this cell, they are misled, but not entirely wrong. And the girl I am close to--"

"It is an operation, Michael," Ziva snapped.

"Ziva, I cannot help having feelings!" He raised his voice in turn.

"Michael," Ziva said tightly, "you are an officer of the Mossad. You are metsada. Whether or not you are trusted, you must complete your mission properly."

"Or what?" Michael asked.

Ziva froze. Or what? What could she do about it? "Why did you call?" she tried to sound calmer. "Why did you tell me this?"

He paused before answering. "I wanted your support, your sympathy," he said slowly. "I love you, Ziva."

She fought an emotional reaction. "You are on dangerous ground, Michael," she answered, her tone even but firm.

"Fine, then. We can talk about this later." He hung up.

Ziva found her hands shaking as she twisted the key in the ignition. Without looking, she slammed the car into reverse and hit the gas.

_Thump_. She was jolted in her seat as the car hit a wall. Ziva swore repeatedly in Hebrew, French, English—all the words that came to mind, angry not just at the car, fighting back fear as she pushed the car into drive and took off toward NCIS.

***

"Ziva, tough time at the pawn shop?" Tony asked lightly as she entered the bullpen, still moving too quickly.

"I hit a stone wall," she said shortly.

"Brick wall," Tony answered.

"No, it was a stone wall, I backed up too quickly," she snapped and turned to Gibbs to report in.

Tony studied her a moment, noting the tension that was holding her body taut and the absence of her usual calm. Something was up. But for the moment, he focused on the case.

***

"So, Ziva." Tony leaned over the partition next to her desk late that evening, after the bullpen had emptied for the night.

"Yes, Tony?"

"You drove into a stone wall."

"You wish to torment me about my poor driving?"

"No. Nope. I wanted to ask what made you get in an accident. Cause that hasn't happened in a while now."

She paused while she considered. Her anger at Michael was still just beneath the surface of her thoughts, making her reckless. Surely Tony would understand if anyone could.

"I got a phone call that aggravated me," she began slowly.

"From whom?" Tony demanded.

"There is a man I have been seeing, a Mossad agent."

Tony contained his reaction, but she was well trained and could still see the jerk of his head, the flare of his nostrils.

"My father is suspicious of him, and also of me. We agreed to—to watch each others rears."

"Backs, Ziva. Or asses."

"Anyway, he is on an undercover mission, in a terrorist cell. And he called earlier to confess that he has feelings for the girl he has been seducing." She looked up at him defensively.

"Bringing back bad memories?" There was a hint of a joke in Tony's tone, to cover how serious he was.

"Tony, I was not as bothered as you seem to think that you slept with some other woman undercover," Ziva snapped.

"Even though I loved her?" he asked softly.

"Tony," she took a deep breath, "my brother betrayed me in every way possible. So yes, I was very worried when you began acting suspiciously, but that is because you are my partner and my friend." Her irritation was quickly transferring to Tony.

Tony looked chagrined. "But hey, Ziva, at least he told you."

"Yes, but now his mission is compromised. It turns out he is as reckless as my father feared."

"And you'd hate for Daddy to be right." He was sarcastic.

She glared at him.

"So why not just tell on him? It's not like him re-accusing you is going to seem believable if there's evidence of his disloyalty."

"Mossad isn't NCIS, Tony. He wouldn't get reassigned to a desk job for screwing up his op, he'd get sent on a suicide mission!"

"So you are defending him?"

She stood to put them on the same level, but then looked away as she spoke. "Tony, we are...close."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "He's not in DC, is he?"

"No," she admitted.

Tony shook his head, thinking. "Back in Colombia, you talked about following orders. Have you changed your mind?"

Ziva looked at him, stricken. That was the question. "I still follow Gibbs'."

"And your father's?" He raised his eyebrows.

She hesitated and he nodded understanding.

"So what are you going to do about Mr. Mossad?"

She glared at him for the nickname. "There is nothing I _can_ do, Tony."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "That's almost never true, Ziva."

She shook her head, angrier than before. "Just forget it, Tony. Forget I said anything." She grabbed up her coat and stormed off. At the elevator she hazarded a peek back toward their desks. Tony hadn't moved from where she left him, and as she stepped inside and the doors shut behind her, Ziva wondered if she'd just made a huge mistake.

____________________________________________________________________

Let me know what you think!


	13. Legend 1a

**Pivotal Moments**

This chapter is extended scenes for Legends Part 1 (6x21) The first morning of Legends, Hadar calls before Michael, with an ultimatum for Ziva. This is the first of probably three chapters based on Legends 1-2.

A/N You may notice I've changed the titles of the chapters to the episodes they're associated with. Hopefully this should make it easier to navigate. Also, serious disclaimer time: a lot of this dialogue comes straight from the show.

___________________________________________________________________

**April 2009: Washington DC**

Tony answered the phone off Ziva's desk, teasing her about the man on the line before handing it over.

"Shalom?" Ziva said.

"Officer David," said the crisp tones of Officer Hadar, one of her father's men.

Ziva's stomach dropped. She sat before her knees gave way, glad Tony and McGee were distracted at the other end of the bullpen. "Yes?"

"I have a message for you from your father," Hadar said coolly.

"What is that?"

"You tell him over and over that you cannot judge this man, Rivkin, from afar. So he is sending the man to you in Washington. By the end of the week he wants your report on the man, and if it turns out to be...less than accurate—in any way—it will be on your head, and he will no longer trust you to monitor his interests in the United States."

Ziva suddenly felt dizzy and forced herself to take a breath. "I understand," she said as firmly as she could.

Hadar hung up. Ziva slowly set the phone in the cradle, trying to control her features as she felt them contorting instinctively in panic.

She jerked with alarm when Tony spoke, having closed the distance across the bullpen more quickly than she'd realized. "Long distance can be hard. Telefriend from Tel Aviv?" he joked.

She groped for words that would put him off, give her enough space to collect herself. "You're just jealous."

"I'm not jealous," Tony snapped back.

"Yes, you are." She tried to find the right energy for banter.

"No, I'm not." Tony got the last word as they headed for the elevators, mostly because Ziva was still so tense she thought she might be sick.

***

"He got a name?" Tony asked casually later that morning, sitting on the edge of her desk.

"Who?" Ziva didn't look up.

"Star of David?"

She knew he meant the man from that morning and assumed that the caller had been the agent she'd told him about weeks ago. So she didn't tell him otherwise. "Oh, him. Yes, he has a name."

"Trevor? Bruce? Marmaduke?"

"Michael."

"Hmm. Sounded more like a Bruce than a Michael on the phone."

Gibbs breezed in to take McGee away, and Tony hardly got back into the swing of his mock-interrogation before her cellphone rang.

"Answer that!" he told her.

"Shalom." At the other end was Michael, excited to surprise her with a visit—as she'd anticipated. He was in DC as Hadar had promised, gave her an address nearby where they could meet.

"Cover for me," she told Tony.

"What? When will you be back?"

"Soon."

***

When she arrived, Michael's glass was already empty and Ziva's suspicions raised.

His demeanor was cheery but she could tell it was false. He greeted her with a kiss that tasted like vodka. "What a week," he said lightly, the tension in his face belying his voice.

"Bad?" Ziva asked as she sat.

"The op is ending," he said quietly. "As you know, in these sorts of situations, all the loose threads need to be cut."

She nodded understanding.

"Before I left," his eyes turned to his drink. "I had to deal with Shakira's brother in such a manner."

Ziva raised her eyebrows. "She's the girl?"

Michael nodded, finally looking up at her again. "I was told to," he said with more false goodwill. "I do as I am told."

She pursed her lips, sympathetic but unsure what Michael in this barely controlled state wanted from her.

"And so I come here. But I must return tonight; I am to buy the weapons for them, giving me, your father hopes, prime opportunity to disable the weapons and take out the dealer."

"Well, you must believe greater good will come of that," Ziva said slowly.

Michael tilted his drink back, swallowing quickly, rather than answering.

Ziva watched him, worried. His growing instability was clear, but she didn't see evil in him, and if she told Hadar he had to be extracted she could not be sure what would happen to him. But if she didn't report his behavior, she would be taken in herself when he inevitability lost control.

Her cell phone rang and Ziva glanced down. Tony.

"Hello," she answered.

"Oh hi, I'm not keeping you from anything, am I? Like, work?"

"Tony, I'm working on something," she said quickly, knowing another person's entanglement would only make the situation worse. "I'm following a lead."

"A lead. On Chandler?"

"Might not come to anything."

"Care to share?" She knew he knew she was lying.

"Tony, I cannot talk. I have to go."

"Go!" he said with false enthusiasm.

She closed the phone.

Michael smiled over at her, the liquor clearly taking effect. "DiNozzo?"

"I do not want to lie to him, Michael," she said, unsure if he'd assume her lie meant she'd lie to him, too.

"A small lie," he dismissed it easily.

She was still tense.

"Your father sends his love," he added, a reminder though he didn't know it of Hadar's threat.

"What else does my father send?" she asked softly.

He put his hand over hers on the table. "Me." Ziva could feel in his grip how much he needed from her. She was the rock he was clinging to in the storm that his life had become, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be, was in fact rapidly realizing didn't, but she had no choice—he wasn't letting go.


	14. Legend 1b

**Pivotal Moments**

Chapter 14 continues to follow the events of Legend Part 1: Tony confronts Ziva with his discoveries about Morocco.

A/N This story has been very Ziva-centric, but this chapter needed to be from Tony's POV. Remember that in my version, she mentioned to him during _Hide and Seek_ that she was in a mess with a questionable Mossad agent, and he encouraged her to do something about it. Her refusal to do so has led to his recent suspicions. And yes, there's a little more personal tension here than is technically justified by the episode, but I enjoy it this way and hopefully you will too!

_____________________________________________________________________

**April 2009: Washington DC**

Tony stepped into Autopsy, careful to shuffle his shoes a bit to give Ducky some warning. He played along as the older man elicited his Gibbs impression, trying to suppress the worry nagging at the back of his mind over Ziva's recent disappearances from the office. He wasn't sure how deeply involved she was with the agent she'd told him about, but he was sure it was too deep.

"Tell me why you came down here to see me," Ducky finally directed.

"Ziva," Tony said simply, beginning to sign the papers Ducky set in front of him.

"Ah, personal not professional," Ducky said knowingly.

"It's not what you think," Tony replied sharply.

"I'm not thinking anything," the older man replied innocently. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking she's worried about something..." He looked to the side, unwilling to reveal her confidences. "She seems distracted."

"Yes, well, we all get distracted. Keep signing."

He looked down at the pages. "She ever talk to you about what she did when she went back to Israel?"

"No," Ducky told him, then offered, "She was involved in an undercover operation in Morocco."

"Yeah, I know all about that," Tony dismissed the news. She'd told him about the lounge act once, an extension of a story about karaoke. Something inside him clenched at the memory of the photos of her as a young woman, of the laughter they'd shared in the telling of those stories.

"She almost died."

Tony looked up, shocked. "Really. I didn't know about that."

"There was a glimpse of her on some newsreel footage after the bomb blast. If she's distracted--"

Tony cut him off. "You know, I'm probably just overreacting." He threw down the pen and headed out of Autopsy.

In the elevator, Tony found his hand shaking as he reached to push a button and so he hit the off switch instead. She'd almost died. He'd almost come back from Colombia to find her gone. Hell, if she'd died he didn't know if he'd have made it back from Colombia. How could she not have told him? The thought bounced around his brain, unrelenting.

He hit the elevator back into motion, pressed the floor for MTAC. He needed to see it for himself.

***

Watching the footage wasn't as bad as he'd feared; she was conscious, though clearly disoriented, moving around. Tony didn't know until he saw her that his biggest fear had been the sight of her unconscious, prone, mangled. But it still twisted his stomach to know he could have lost her, to know she didn't tell him.

The third time he watched the reel, the man beside her registered, the man trying to talk to her, to hold her hand. Clearly not a stranger, probably part of her cover. Tony wasn't sure how, but his gut told him that Ziva couldn't have been around many agents while undercover, and if this was one she'd been working with, he was most likely the man she'd become involved with.

Stilling his body with a slow breath, Tony set off for the lab, determined to find out who the man was, to do anything in his power to prevent a day where something worse than this happened to Ziva.

***

Late that evening, Tony watched Ziva across the bullpen, armed with the knowledge that the Michael who'd been with her in Morocco was the same man she'd been making excuses to see, undoubtedly the same man whose involvement with Ziva was putting her career and possibly her life in jeopardy. Sitting at her desk she seemed nonchalant, but when she'd sat down upon her return from her last errand, she hadn't removed her guns. Tony knew from experience that to Ziva, these were security blankets. She only wore them indoors when something was making her feel unsafe.

She got up suddenly and headed out.

Tony ran to follow her into the elevator.

"Thanks for holding that," he said, though she hadn't.

"You're welcome, Tony," she said reflexively.

Finally standing here beside her, he had no idea what to say. "Never thought I'd say this but I almost miss McGee. Almost. What about you? Miss him?"

"Yes, I do." She didn't look at him.

"Miss anyone else? Gibbs?" Now he was under control, deliberate.

"Some."

"What about your friend from Tel Aviv?" he hazarded.

"Tony."

"I'm just saying."

"Yes, I miss Michael too." And damn it, she'd said the name. Final confirmation that the pieces fit together the way Tony thought.

"When he called the other day I thought he must have been here."

"No. Sadly Michael is not here," Ziva answered slowly.

The elevator doors opened and expelled them into the lobby of the building. Tony continued to follow Ziva as they headed through the front doors.

"How did you kids meet?" Tony asked, his tone still light.

"We worked together."

"In Morocco?"

She looked sharply at him. "Yes."

"Closely." His voice had lowered quickly.

She glared. "He was my partner."

They were outside now, headed toward the parking structure through a mostly deserted area of compound. Tony stopped where they were and Ziva reluctantly stilled beside him, looking up at him.

"What is it, Tony?" she asked sharply.

His eyes looked past her as he tried to find words to tell her. "Ducky told me today that you nearly died in Morocco."

She jerked back as if he'd slapped her. "I see."

"How could you not tell me?" Tony demanded.

Ziva sighed, shook her head, then looked up at him. "Tony, you already blamed yourself for Jenny's death. I could not have you blame yourself for my injuries, too." Her gaze was filled with concern that Tony couldn't deny.

She was right, he realized, thinking back. For it to be his responsibility would have been too much. He met her gaze more calmly now that he knew she hid from him not out of deceit but for his own sake. "Michael was in the ZNN footage with you."

Her eyed widened in surprise. "I don't remember that. I don't remember anything from the explosion until I woke up in the hospital."

Tony nodded, accepting her at her word. "He seemed awfully concerned about you."

Now she bristled. "We were not involved then, not personally."

"But after that, after he'd failed to protect you?" Tony glanced around as he realized his voice was raising, was glad to see they were alone.

Ziva sighed, knowing this would be difficult to explain to Tony. "Sometimes you're hurt, and you just need—to be touched, to touch someone and know that you are still alive."

His eyes bored into her. "Why him?"

She evaded him, looking toward the garage. "He was my partner."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Rules different in Mossad?"

Ziva returned his glare now, irritated. "Yes, actually."

"So you usually sleep with your partners."

She sighed, pursed her lips, knowing he would not take it well. "It is not unusual."

"But never me." It came out petulant and he regretted it.

"Tony." She stopped, hoping he wouldn't press, but he waited silently. "That sort of sex—it's casual. It means nothing except in the moment. When I stared sleeping with Michael, that's all it was. I could not have that kind of sex with you."

He recoiled, misinterpreting, and she reached out a hand. "Tony, I meant..." Ziva wondered how it had come to this, that even in the midst of her career dissolving and Michael imploding, with her departure from the United States imminent, her partner's hurt feelings are taking precedence, are making her want to kiss him until he takes her meaning to heart.

She regrouped, trying to use words instead. "With you it would mean something. Too much. I could not walk away." She leaned in toward him to force his downcast eyes to meet hers, and suddenly the hurt on his face was transformed as he understood.

This was the same moment she was trying to describe seconds ago, where danger and tension led to sex. And they were just close enough now that her body was flushing with awareness of him. This was inevitable, she thought fleetingly, Tony's words from a year before, and it was enough to give Ziva the control to pull away.

Tony's eyes hardened again as the space between them increased. Ziva took two more steps back, toward her car, toward safety.

"He's the man you're worried about now, though?" Tony demanded, following her.

She returned his stare silently.

"I thought you were going to do something about him months ago," Tony said angrily, fueled by the conflicting hormones rushing through him as a result of the moment they had just avoided.

"I couldn't!" Ziva said, responding wrathfully for the same reason.

"Why not?" He cut himself off from asking if she loved Michael.

Ziva answered slowly but harshly, lowering her voice as someone approached from the garage. "Tony, this is mine to deal with. Believe me, things are complicated enough. I will not have you involved and risk this being your falldown as well."

"Downfall," Tony snarked before the word's meaning registered.

At his tone, Ziva turned on her heel and strode quickly away.

Tony was familiar enough with her body language to know better than to follow her. Instead he watched her, noting the way her right hand flirted over her gun as she passed a man on the path. Distraction did not begin to cover it, he thought to himself. She was terrified.


	15. Legend 2

**Pivotal Moments**

Chapter 15 expands Legend Part 2, and continues immediately from the last two chapters, bringing the confrontation between Tony and Ziva to a climax.

So...some TIVA for you in this chapter, though not the sappy kind. If you think after reading that I should raise the rating, let me know. Also, a heartfelt thank you once again to those of you who've regularly let me know what you like about this piece. You guys make my day!

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**Washington DC**

Ziva was relieved to be the first in the office that morning, especially when she got to tell Tony about Gibbs' call summoning them to MTAC and not the other way around. As they scaled the stairs, she was tense and did her best to shrug off his questions. She only hoped the situation OSP was dealing with was unrelated to Michael's trip to LA the day before. But she knew as soon as Gibbs addressed her and not Tony that her hopes were in vain.

"Ziva."

"Gibbs."

Gibbs looked off-camera. "McGee, put it up." He looked back to her. Beside his face appeared a picture of Michael and she felt suddenly frozen. "You recognize him? Ziva!"

She knew that even if her father did not recall her, if she lied to Gibbs now her career here was over. "Yes, I know him," she answered quickly. "His name is Michael Rivkin."

"He says he's Mossad."

"Yes, he is with the Mossad."

"Anything else you can tell us about him, Officer David?" asked a woman she didn't know.

She was glad it wasn't Gibbs asking, because she did not hesitate before saying, "No. I have not worked with him in some time." It was true, sort of, she reassured herself.

"We will talk more about this later," Gibbs snapped. She worried what Gibbs had read in her face, her posture.

"Of course," Ziva answered with all the calm she could muster. The screen flickered off. She could feel the tension radiating from Tony beside her. "You did not think I would identify him. That was not a question," she said tightly. Did he really think she was lying last night when she said she was still loyal to Gibbs?

"Anything you want to tell me?" Tony asked coldly.

"No. One word answer—I win." She stormed away from him, wanting to run, needing space to process. Gibbs hadn't given them any direction for the day so she made her way to the gym, running circles around the suspended track as fast as she could.

She had been willing to help Michael as much as she could because she believed that Mossad had been wrong in thinking him disloyal, because she believed that what seemed to them as strange behavior was inspired purely by his sense of being monitored. A reinforcing loop.

But now that he had messed with NCIS, he would probably be taken out regardless—and perhaps should be. If his behavior really was out of control, and she was fairly certain after his visit that it was, he didn't belong in the game, certainly not with arms that could destroy an entire city. But it might well be too late to save herself from her father's wrath. Even if she turned him in now, Michael was too far gone. Her father would know she had been reporting falsely for months.

And NCIS...Ziva stopped running in the moment that she realized they probably wouldn't want her anymore. Even if through some miracle her father let her stay, in the director's eyes, failure to obey Mossad would make her useless to anyone as an agent. She sank to her knees on the track, panting.

When her breathing finally slowed, she cleaned herself up, keeping her mind blank because the alternative was panic, and returned to the squad room. She settled in to do mindless tasks, but feared all day every time her phone rang or her email pinged that this was the moment, the moment she was ordered back.

***

Tony closed the phone slowly, frustration mounting inside of him. He had just lied to McGee for Ziva, after she told him to stay out of it. But what else could he do? Anger flared through him. How had it come to this? She couldn't say no to a man? He sighed. The worst part was that his partner had gotten into such a terrible mess without ever asking for his help. Well, he'd told McGee he'd talk to her. Tony sat down at his desk, taking a deep breath and waving distractedly to Abby as she headed back to the lab. If he could just stay calm, perhaps she'd...he wasn't even sure what he wanted. For her to ask for help? For her to resolve her own mess? He wanted her safe. He let his mind wrap around the idea. It seemed like a reasonable thing to want. Yet they never seemed to have the sort of conversations where he could say such a thing.

He heard the elevator doors open and looked up in time to see Ziva entering there area.

"What did I miss?" she asked lightly.

Nervousness slipped into him, and he went for joking before he could stop himself. "...but really all the fun's happening in another area code. Are we fighting?"

"If we were, you would be on the floor, bleeding." Ziva answered warily.

"OK, I accept that as a likely outcome. So you're just annoyed with me?"

She glanced to the side but didn't answer. Tony continued to study her.

"Angry?"

You should not be surprised.

"Because of this morning?"

"You though I would not identify Michael Rivkin as a Mossad operative."

Well. She had him there. "I didn't say a word."

"You did not have to."

"So you think you did the right thing." Now he was irritated himself.

"You think I didn't?"

"Maybe you should have told them more. Like how well you know him."

"How well do I know him, Tony?" The volume of her voice was escalating and Tony knew this had somehow gone wrong.

"You know him better than they think you do."

"And you know that how?" They both knew what she meant: he only knew because she trusted him with the information.

"Well, you saw him when he was in DC three days ago. You didn't tell them why when you had the change and I'm just wondering why, that's all." Tony spoke slowly, trying to seem more balanced.

"Okay, are you by any chance questioning my loyalty?" She was moving toward him but he wasn't intimidated.

"I am questioning why you didn't tell them you saw him three days ago."

"Are you jealous?" she asked calmly.

"No," he answered. The moment last night, when he'd thought she might kiss him flickered through is mind, but he dismissed it. "I'm worried because you don't seem to understand that your secret friend is interfering with this agency's ability to shut down a terrorist cell."

"Interfering? How is he interfering?" He noted fear in her eyes.

"He's already killed two suspects."

"Well, in my country that would be cause for celebration." She was agitated and he can tell could hadn't known about the murders yet.

"You're not in your country! And neither is he."

"Have you finished?" She seemed suddenly drained of wrath and that worried Tony even more.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"Good." She turned, heading back toward the elevator.

"No." He followed her. "Another question. You know where we can find him?"

"No. I don't."

"And if you did, would you tell me?" He was trying as hard as he could to offer help. They had no common language for that.

She pressed the button. "No. But I would tell Gibbs." The elevator doors closed.

Tony stood outside them, already regretting the confrontation. He had done nothing but make her feel more isolated, more threatened. There had to be a way to save her from this. Because if she'd been able to save herself, she'd have done it already.

With quiet resolve, Tony headed for the stairs. As he left the building he saw Ziva's car racing out of the driveway in the direction of her apartment, and without a second thought he sprinted for his car.

***

Tony knocked on the apartment door hesitantly, less certain than ever in their friendship that she would let him in.

Ziva opened the door slowly, her gun drawn. When she saw him, she sheathed it, which Tony chose to take as a good sign.

"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

She stepped back so he could do so.

"I'm sorry," Tony said as he passed her. "But Michael's in trouble and I want to keep you out of it if I can."

A noise came from Ziva's throat that he could not at once identify as a laugh or a cry. He turned to her, looked closely, and was shocked to find her eyes reddened. Only then did he glance around the apartment and take in the boxes.

"What's going on?" Tony asked anxiously.

Ziva felt too depressed to discuss it, but Tony's pleading eyes forced it out of her. She spoke slowly, evenly, her last confession. "Tony, I never thought NCIS would be hurt by the mess Michael is making of his life. I thought I could separate my distrust of Mossad from my trust of Gibbs, of all of you. But it's too late. I'm compromised and no use to anyone, not loyal to anyone but Michael and I know he's imploding. I have to report Michael before his actions get more people hurt or killed, and when I tell Mossad, my career here will be over." She watched Tony stiffen at her last words. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You've always been loyal to me," Tony said quietly when she'd finished.

She looked up at him with eyes that glinted with tears. And knew it was true.

He realized in the instant before their lips met that she hadn't asked for this, hadn't done anything to encourage it. But it was too late to stop; he was kissing her and then she was kissing him back. One of her hands curled around the back of Tony's neck and the knowledge that Ziva wanted him too washed through his brain and sent arousal coursing through his body.

They'd been kissing for nearly a minute before Ziva could pull back. Conflicted, confused, she pressed her forehead against his collarbone, her hands clenched in the front of his shirt. She wanted this, she thought, but there was no way around the fact that in a matter hours Michael would be here, and she'd have to play her part or risk escalating things further. She took a deep breath to calm her heart, and it might have worked except that she was pressed into Tony's chest and the smell of him sent her senses reeling again. In the next moment, his thumb found its way under the edge of her t-shirt, stroking the small of her back. Her head tilted back as she gasped in pleasure and Tony, looking down at her face—eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated, mouth soft and open—kissed her again.

Their hunger for each other carried them across the living room: clothing was pulled and torn and discarded, furniture was ignored where it fell except when it allowed one to press closer to the other. The moment when Tony finally thrust into Ziva was exquisite, but neither could later say quite where it fell in the saga of destruction their sex waged against the apartment, only that they both cried out.

There was an undercurrent of violence in the way they touched each other. Tony was possessing her, marking her, for himself, for all of them, claiming her as theirs and neither Michael's nor her father's to take. And Ziva wanted him to. There was adrenaline like that night in Morocco, but this was more. They were taking each other not to offer creature comfort but to fight their way into one body, inseparable. It had nothing to do with love.

Eventually they collapsed on her bed, still in each other's arms. Tony held Ziva close as her breathing stilled. She looked up at him, and now that their passion had abated, the sudden intimacy left behind was almost too deep. Ziva stared into Tony's eyes, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what they'd done and Tony slowly leaned in and kissed her. Not demanding, not claiming. Just a kiss, slow and soft and hesitant, like a first kiss. And Ziva felt more vulnerable than when he'd pinned her down before. For one moment she let herself feel this close to Tony, let the agonizing sensitivity of him holding her flood through her—and then she pulled away, escaping to the bathroom.

She paused before the mirror that filled the wall over the sink. Marks from his mouth and nails and fingertips decorated her stomach and breasts and hips.

Tony entered behind her, having taken the time to slip on boxers, and settled a hand on her shoulder, noting the same details of her reflection. "Will it be a problem?" he asked, worried now though it was too late to take it back. "Would he..." he trailed off, not wanting to imagine what a violent man might do if he sensed infidelity. Not that Ziva couldn't fight back, but...

Ziva shrugged. "I can tell him I had to seduce someone undercover and I can't talk about it. He got to use the same excuse."

Tony nodded at her in the mirror and Ziva elbowed him. "Now get out, I have to pee."

He kissed the back of her head, smirking at the wild tangle of her curls, and stepped out, closing the door. "Having men in the bathroom never bothered you before," he called as an afterthought.

Ziva grinned, then watched in the mirror as her face fell. She wrapped her arms around herself, studying her reflection.

The fear coiled tighter and tighter inside her again as she refreshed herself and pulled on some clothes in the bedroom, listening to Tony collecting his from around the living room. She was a woman who functioned best in an ordered world, and somehow she had wrought disaster at every turn of late. She could not see through this to any good outcome and it was immobilizing her.

Ziva reentered the living room as Tony glanced toward the door. She followed his gaze.

He looked at her, at a loss for words. Their relationship was suddenly as tender as the bruises on their skin.

"Michael will be here soon," Ziva finally said.

Tony didn't speak, but she could see the way his lips thinned in distress.

"Tony, I—I know I have to find a way to get him under control or else report him. But his mission is over; I should be able to. Please let me try."

He nodded. "Will Mossad still--"

Ziva shrugged helplessly. "I don't know." She stayed where she was, near the bedroom entrance.

"I suppose I'll go, then," Tony said slowly, without moving.

"Good night," she replied. As intimate as they had been in the past hour, it was somehow too much now, to get close to him.

He smiled at her as he opened the door, affectionate but bewildered by the unexpectedness of what has happened. "Good night." He left.

Ziva found herself trembling as she began to gather her clothing, straightened the furniture around the living room. Her body ached in ways that made her think of Tony as she righted chairs and knelt to retrieve socks from under tables. She couldn't help but worry that she'd made another bad decision, but she couldn't find any reason this would compound the mess already made.

When Michael finally arrived two hours later, he was already drunk from the wet bar on the airplane. Ziva could tell at once that he was more unstable than ever, a judgment confirmed by his rambling about killing men, betraying women. She was only glad that the alcohol had eased his awareness and physical capacities far enough that within twenty minutes he was passed out in her bed.

Suppressing her revulsion just in case he opened his eyes, Ziva crawled into bed beside him. He had a return ticket to Tel Aviv for the next day, but if he wasn't on the flight, she knew what she had to do. She clutched the pendant on her necklace, the six points stabbing into her palm. There was no way through this without betraying someone.


	16. Semper Fidelis

**Pivotal Moments**

Chapter 16 expands Semper Fidelis and Ziva, Tony and Michael's reflections on what has become of them.

A/N I don't really buy these episodes as TIVA on the show. There's some here because I inserted it into the earlier episodes in earlier chapters. Just for the record.

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**Washington DC**

Michael laid in bed, perfectly still, until he heard the front door lock as Ziva left for work. Then he was instantly on his feet, gathering his laptop and phone from around the apartment. He found a brief text from Tabul: _Success?_

He typed his response quickly: _The bug was set. _No need to mention to the man that he'd been interrupted, had had to subdue an American agent in the process of setting the bug. After he'd received his orders to find a way to monitor members of the intelligence community discussing Israeli matters the day before, Michael had gone to Tabul, a contact of the cell he'd been part of, and blackmailed him for plans to the home of the Secretary of the Navy by threatening to turn him over to Mossad. If the bug had proved as useless as Michael feared, Tabul might now have to take responsibility for the matter.

He would have to find out from Ziva what had become of the agent. The thought of her made him sigh. She too might end up responsible for this. But at least her pleas of innocence would be true; he'd made sure to get drunk enough before arriving the night before to avoid her questions. It remained only to deflect the accusations against himself. He opened his laptop.

***

Ziva settled herself at her desk, wondering if she should pack her things here, too. She glanced up as Tony entered, and he smiled at her.

"Gear up," Gibbs said before either of them could speak, "situation at SecNav's house."

The agents holstered their weapons, relieved to have something to do. In the truck, seated next to each other while Gibbs drove, they found themselves briefly aware of their legs pressed closely together, but then Gibbs began to give them the sketchy details he had so far, and they settled down to work.

Going about the case, Ziva was surprised to find that she and Tony, without any discussion, were teammates again. The stress of fighting all week was gone, and they were working in synch, moving from task to task seamlessly, working Agent Foster-Yates for information by communicating to each other with glances and nods. Working the crime scene was effortless, and Ziva felt more at ease than she had in what felt like weeks.

And yet foreboding still nagged at the back of Ziva's mind when she let it, and flared every time the phone rang. So when Michael called in the middle of the morning, she wasn't surprised.

She saw Tony take in the fact that she was speaking Hebrew and grow instantly tense. "I have to run out for a few minutes. I'll be right back," she told him softly, hoping he'd understand and give her the time it took to resolve things.

"I'll be right here," Tony answered. It reassured her more than she could say.

*

Tony took a moment to watch Ziva leave before he opened a window on his computer and translated what she'd said. As he read over the words, he knew she wasn't being called home; it had to be Michael. And if he was still calling and making lunch dates, he wasn't headed to the airport. Tony felt the anger building in him. Ziva was his, was theirs. He needed to tell Michael himself to get lost or he'd never forgive himself if the man got Ziva taken away from them.

*

Ziva watched Michael across the cafe as she headed to his table, eyes flickering over his face, registering his demeanor: calmer than during his last visit, at least.

She forced a smile as she joined him. "Shalom." He smiled, taking her hand, and pulled her down to kiss her cheek.

"Have you seen the menu?" he asked, waving to the waiter.

"I'm busy today," she said and saw him stiffen slightly. "I wish I could stay for lunch, Michael," she added to soften it.

"It's OK. Join me for a drink." He smiled. "Another vodka, just a splash of soda this time, please," he told the waiter.

"Ah, nothing for me, thanks," Ziva told the man. Michael looked at her and she shrugged. "I'm working on a case."

"Tell me," he slurred, grinning.

She paused, wary.

Michael grabbed her hand. "Ah, this is what a relationship looks like, how was your day, dear?"

She laughed, genuinely. "I'll tell you when it's over."

Her phone rang, and she glanced at it. Tony. When she answered, he told her it was urgent and she made her excuses to Michael, hoping Tony hadn't just tried to do her a favor by helping her avoid him.

"I'll see you later," she said to Michael. When he didn't answer, she leaned down and kissed him quickly. She left the restaurant quickly, wishing she'd had time to confirm Michael's plans to leave but also relieved she hadn't been forced to make a public scene. It could wait until tonight, in private.

*

Tony watched her leave, trying to determine from her posture what she'd told Michael and coming up empty. "That's for my friend, I can bring it over," he said to the waiter, snatching Michael's drink off the tray. The man looked surprised but said nothing as Tony walked away.

Tony set the drink down in front of Michael.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Is this seat taken?"

Michael gestured for him to sit. "This is a little like that scene in _Heat_. When Pacino and DeNiro finally meet?" Tony joked.

"I'm Deniro in this scene?"

"Huh. You think you're Deniro in this scene. Okay, you can call me Al. I'll spare you the singing."

"You've come to chase her away from me," Michael said, clearly not rising to the bait.

"Mikey Israel. In the very tan flesh—trip to LA did you good."

"Ziva prefers darker skin," Michael jibed.

"How does she like being played? Cause I think we both know this romance isn't Kosher," Tony snapped back.

"I can understand your suspicions, given what we have about you in your dossier, Agent Meatball."

Tony's nostrils flared. "There's an El Al flight tonight, out of Ronald Reagan at 8:25 PM. Lands at Ben Gurion tomorrow evening," he said firmly.

Michael downed the glass Tony had brought. "I'm not finished spending time with Ziva."

"NCIS says you are."

"Ziva's very lucky to have a man like you in her life. Like a...big brother."

Tony thought fleetingly of Ziva's actual big brother and suppressed a predatory grin. If Ari had been the one defending Ziva, there would not have been any conversation involved. "I've got some work to do and you clearly have some drinking to finish," he told Michael lightly, "and after that I think you should start packing."

"You can question my feelings for Ziva all you want. Unfortunately, you can't question her feelings for me. Can you?"

At this defense, Tony relaxed. Michael didn't suspect anything of what had happened the night before. He hadn't realized he was still worried about it until now. "Say goodbye, Mikey. Get on the flight." He stood and left. As he drove back to NCIS, Tony knew that Ziva wouldn't be happy over what he'd done, but he had at least satisfied his own need to tell Rivkin off to his face. Hopefully he wouldn't get another chance.

*

Ziva was still twenty feet from their section of the bullpen when she realized Tony had lied. The posture and activity level of Gibbs and McGee didn't fit with their having just located a suspect. And Tony was nowhere to be seen.

Trying not to make a scene of her entrance, she slipped in quietly. As soon as she'd put her gun away, she moved to Tony's desk, trying to figure out where he'd gone, and to what end. In his trash she found what he transcribed, and felt something inside her crack at the knowledge that he was still suspicious, even of her.

"We have not found Tabul yet," she said tightly as he returned, rising to vacate Tony's desk.

"We really should be working harder," Tony answered lightly.

"I came back here quickly because you said we had found Abin Tabul," she hissed. "Where were you?"

He paused. "Where were you?"

Of course, Ziva thought. It was hardly surprising.

"He was in LA on business just like he's in DC on business," Tony said quietly, confirming it. The betrayal was like a slap in the face.

"I cannot believe you!" Ziva said. "If you wanted to meet him you could just ask me to introduce you!"

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't check on him!"

Ziva took a deep breath to control the tension and pain.

"Gibbs told him to clock out. I told him to clock out. Perhaps it would carry some more weight if it came from you."

"Michael is here to see me," she snapped. Clearly she couldn't trust him with the truth anymore. "He is not working. He is on vacation."

"Well he certainly is drinking like it."

Foster-Yates interrupted and Tony glared at Ziva as he rose to show her to the conference room.

Ziva felt like her stomach was in knots, and it surprised her mostly because the panic she felt about Michael was purely professional, but somehow after one night, Tony's disrespect was crushing.

***

Back at Ziva's apartment, Michael quickly opened his laptop. He confirmed that the bug was not transmitting, then hacked into the NCIS mainframe long enough to be certain as well that the agent from last night had died. He swore under his breath. Everything that could go wrong, it seemed, had. He'd have to deal with Tabul, then find a way to set up monitoring the men involved in the poker game last night. He neatened his suitcases, not wanting to be in Ziva's way. He'd need her good humor a little longer it seemed. Before he closed the laptop, he opened another program, one that would backdate emails and archive them before she could see them. Michael sighed. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. He pressed send, then closed the computer and headed to Tabul's apartment.

***

Tony watched as Ziva prepared to leave. She hadn't spoken a single superfluous word to him since that morning. He only hoped she'd understand when she was calmer that he had had to do it.

"Goodnight," she said as she stood, her tone telling her she had no wishes for him to have a good night.

"'Night," Tony answered.

She took her coat and left.

Gibbs stepped into Tony's view. "Rule Number 11, DiNozzo."

"I would never date a co-worker, boss. Trust me. I mean why would you even--" He caught his mistake.

Gibbs smiled.

"That's twelve. Eleven: when the job is done, walk away," he recited.

"The case is wrapped up, DiNozzo," said Fornell. "In a nice little bow."

"And-and that works for you, Fornell? Crazy terrorist kills himself?" Tony was almost sure Rivkin had been involved.

"Can't really understand the mentality, doesn't mean I can't accept it." Fornell headed out, his step as jaunty as his tone.

Gibbs leaned in, whispering, looking over at Ziva's desk. "So, what's on your mind?"

"Rivkin's been in town," Tony said simply. He wasn't sure how much Ziva wanted Gibbs involved.

"I know."

"With Ziva."

"Guy doesn't listen."

Hearing the words from Gibbs was a relief. Tony wasn't alone in thinking so. "Does that bother you on a professional level or a personal one?" he asked carefully.

"I tell you what," Gibbs answered, "I'm having a little trouble untangling the two."

"So you are bothered?"

"Oh, yeah. It bothers me. You stay on it."

"Yep."

As Gibbs walked away, Tony thought carefully. He hoped like hell Michael had just gotten on the plane and gone home, but it didn't seem likely. And he'd need evidence to pressure Michael into leaving if he had to confront the man again. He headed for the lab, turning to Abby for answers, and shorting learned that the laptop found with Tabul's body was used at Ziva's apartment. It seemed like just what he needed to get her on his side again, to get her to accept irrefutably that Michael needed to be taken out. He headed for the elevator without another thought.

***

After she left the building, Ziva stopped in front, looked up at the window she'd stared out of during so many cases, and dialed her home. Michael answered. "I'll be home in a little while," she said softly, and hung up.

She could feel the tears filling her throat as she looked over the building, memorizing the details. Michael had not left. She had to call. She did not think she would see inside these walls again, and the worst part was how she had left things with Tony, when just that morning they had been at their best. She wished there had been a way to say goodbye to the others. Well, she could always get in touch later.

Finally Ziva forced herself to turn and head to her car. As she pulled out of the lot, she flipped her phone open and called Hadar, entered her code.

"Shalom, Officer David," he answered.

"We need a forced extraction. Now."

"Target."

She grimaced. He just wanted to hear her say it. "Michael."

"Rivkin? She was sure she could hear glee beneath his solid tones. Have you notified your father?"

"I am notifying you. Who do we have in the area?"

"How bad?" He sounded tired and she realized he had not expected a disaster so soon.

"Who do we have?"

"I will handle it."

She sighed. He was not going to let her choose the person to take Michael down. This would not end quietly. "He's at my apartment. I will make sure he stays there."

"Someone will be sent."

***

Tony paused outside the door to Ziva's apartment, remembering the night before, the worry in Ziva's face, then later the joy—he forced the image of her out of his mind. And yet, he thought, if she were alone—later he would be defensive because of this moment, because there was a single flash of adrenaline in his brain when he paused to consider Ziva, lonely and angry and beautiful.

He knocked. "Ziva, it's Tony."

Michael opened the door.

Tony felt suddenly doused with cold water. "You're here."

"Ziva is not. She should be back soon; you're welcome to come in and wait for her." He descended into the living room. Tony shut the door. "Did you really expect me to leave because you threatened me?"

Slam. "I had my hopes."

"They include you coming here late at night, maybe finding Ziva in an emotional state, you help her pick up the pieces?" He smirked.

"I'm here about a case," Tony said calmly. "An American agent was killed last night. All the evidence points to a terrorist named Abin Tabul; I think you're familiar with him."

Now Rivkin turned, facing Tony.

"Of course, he killed himself before we could catch up to him."

"A zealot?"

"That's the theory," he said lightly. "That's a little too clean for me."

"It doesn't sound clean at all. Sounds like the further you dig, the messier it gets."

"Oh, what can I say?" Now Tony was sarcastic. "The events of the past year have made me a little suspicious."

"Even to the people closest to you?"

"Oh, especially them. We pulled information from Tabul's computer. It says that at some point, the internet was connected—here. Ziva's account."

"She is tied to this dead man," said Rivkin simply, uncaring.

It was at that moment that Tony stopped caring whether this ended well for Rivkin or not: that moment, when he was clearly willing to let her take responsibility for his actions.

"She was obviously duplicitous, practicing the art of misinformation."

Tony tried to keep hate from his voice. "That appears to be the shape of things." He descended the steps toward Rivkin.

"You're here to question Ziva? All because of a string of numbers on a terrorist's computer?"

"I was. Until you opened the door."

Michael raised his glass to his lips.

Tony pulled his handcuffs out and freed his gun. "As soon as you're done with your drink, Michael, you're under arrest. For the murders of Abin Tabul and Federal Agent Tom Sherman."

Michael's face lost its taunting smile, then regained it. "Good luck with that."

Tony extended his cuffs and gun, but Michael rushed him and the pair fell to the floor, fighting, not unlike Ziva and Tony's sprawl across this same furniture the night before.

At first Tony was relieved, wanted this, wanted to take out his rage and his protective instincts on Michael's face. And he didn't seem to be doing too badly until the moment he realized that Michael was holding a shard of glass, that this wasn't a brawl but a death match. He lunged for his gun.

"Enough," he pleaded, his finger on the trigger. "Don't do it. No!" There was no choice. He pulled it hard, again and again, the gun's report thundering through his body as the consequences of this moment swept over him.

______________________________________________________________________

_Thoughts?_


	17. Aliyah: Washington DC

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N I'm handling Aliyah in two pieces, because the pace of the events in the US and  
Israel are really different, and because I have to leave to see Harry Potter with my roommate in 10 minutes and this is as far as I got :). The second part should be up this evening, so stay tuned.

____________________________________________________________________

Ziva leaned back against the wall, letting her eyes fall shut. The tile was cool against the back of her neck. Her hands clenched around the sleeves of her jacket, finding them stiff with dried blood. She felt like a child whose birthday wish was that her little brother would go away who woke up to find him dying. She had said to Tony yesterday, though it was shocking that only a day had passed, that she was only loyal to Michael now. Now even that wasn't true.

"Miss David?" The doctor said softly.

Ziva knew the tone. At least it's over, she thought, and then felt guilty for that, too.

She told Gibbs on autopilot, shrugging off his sympathy and passing Tony without a word. She couldn't believe he had tried to intervene with Michael twice after promising to let her handle things, but the anger she felt over it was remote right now, buried beneath the grief that was numbing all her senses.

Ziva went first to her apartment, realizing only when she'd parked outside that it was a crime scene; she couldn't enter. So she went to NCIS, instead.

She typed up her report for Gibbs, only the barest details. Every five minutes she checked the Autopsy logs from her computer, until she found that Michael's body had arrived. And with a shaking hand, she pushed the button in the elevator and descended.

His face was fairly intact, for which she was grateful. She remembered it laughing. It was suddenly easier than it had been in days to remember why she had cared for him: the way he smiled, the way he touched her, the little gestures of generosity between them, the way he'd stayed up with her in the hospital when she was injured. The last week was unimportant for a moment. He was gone.

Ziva heard a sound behind her and forced all the memories into a knot, and put them away until she could untangle them later.

She could tell from the look on Ducky and Palmer's faces that they remembered Michael from the pictures she'd shown them months ago, that they knew who he was to her. Ducky offered rituals and rites, trying to offer comfort. But she cannot fall apart in front of them right now; surely Hadar will have her home as soon as possible now, and she cannot let herself depend on anyone here.

She made excuses and slipped out of autopsy, but before she could make it to the elevator her memories of Michael had returned, irrepressible, and she darted into the men's room, locked the door, and sank to the ground, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

Tony was on his way to Autopsy when he heard the noise. Like a yelp. In a pitch that could only be one woman. He rushed to the women's room, banged the door open. A woman stepped out with raised eyebrows.

"Is Ziva in there?" he demanded.

She shook her head, looking at him strangely.

He heard the noise again, and a grimace crossed his face. The men's room. Of course. He found it locked. "Ziva," he said softly, then louder and louder. "Ziva, Ziva!"

The noises stopped, but he heard no movement inside.

"Zi!" He pounded on the door, stood back to try to force it with his shoulder.

"Can't force it, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, entering Autopsy himself.

Tony turned, deflated. All he wanted was to make her understand, that he'd only meant to come to her, that he had no choice. But Gibbs was right. She couldn't be forced.

"McGee and I are going to check out the scene," Gibbs told him. "Type your report."

Tony nodded, returning to his desk, and tried to do as ordered even if his eyes darted to the elevator, the stairs, and never seemed to settle on his work.

Ziva waited until Gibbs' return before going back to the bullpen. She handed in her report, resisting Gibbs' efforts to talk to her further until he finally all but forced her into a chair.

"Your apartment's been destroyed. A gas fire earlier this morning."

"Perhaps the lines were damaged during the fight. I would talk to Tony," she said quickly

"No, this was no accident. gas lines were cut." And just like that, she was snapped out of grief and back into reality. She had thought, running into her building the night before, that Hadar had not even waited for her call before sending someone to terminate Michael. Even if she had been wrong about his timing, it seemed clear that Michael's death had been inevitable.

"Any idea who--" Gibbs started.

"No."

"That was a quick answer."

"Simple question."

"Ziva, that's your home." There was so much care and concern in his face that it was a struggle to remember this righteous anger that was blocking out her grief.

"No it's not." Absent another way to change, she went to the locker room, found a change of clothes she'd thankfully left at some point, and left her bloody clothes in the trash.

By the time she got back to the squad room, the men were gone. But there on McGee's computer were the pictures she needed.

As she looked through them, she froze. The kind of detonator used wasn't on a long delay. The fire had been set no more than a few hours before it started. And anyone setting fire today would have seen the crime scene, would have asked enough to find out that Michael was dead, could have simply removed evidence if that were their purpose. This had been meant for her. And Hadar would not stop.

In the clarity of this shock, Ziva knew what to do: go to Gibbs. So she went down to the lab, laid out for Vance and Gibbs what she knew about the bomb, and tried not to let her features flicker in relief when Vance announced they were going to Tel Aviv. To stay here would have meant her death.


	18. Aliyah: Tel Aviv

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N And now for something radically different... The more I worked on this, the more I convinced myself it really was possible to read the episode this way...but I'm pretty sure this isn't what the powers that be had in mind. Some of the dialogue is theirs; the rest I don't think they'd lay claim to.

____________________________________________________________________

They sat silently in a row as they clipped into their harnesses and listened to the roar of the plane taking off: Vance, Gibbs, Ziva, Tony. Once they were in the air, the noise suddenly vanished.

Ziva was waiting for Gibbs' snoring to commence when Vance spoke.

"Officer David, if there's anything else you'd like us to know before we arrive in Israel, I'd suggest you start now," he said mildly.

She sat silently. She knew he knew her father, probably better than she did.

"Ziva," Gibbs said slowly. She turned to look at him. "I had a conversation with the Secretary of the Navy yesterday."

"We've met," she said icily.

"He expressed Agency level suspicions of you because you could work so closely with me after I killed your brother."

She jerked alert, noting the shock on Vance's face as well. Gibbs looked straight into her face. She could tell what he wanted her to say, and she weighed it a moment. Her father knew, had hinted at the knowledge over the years. Certainly nothing could compound his anger now. And perhaps this was her last chance to win trust at NCIS. She nodded slowly to Gibbs, then leaned to direct her words to Vance.

"That's not what happened," she said softly.

Vance cocked his head, questioning.

"Ari was there to kill Gibbs, and confessed his crimes, that much is true, but I was the one who shot him."

From behind her, she heard Tony's gasp.

"You killed your own brother," Vance repeated slowly.

She gave a brief nod. "I was raised to believe that taking the lives of murderers to preserve those of innocent people is justified."

Vance turned to Gibbs. "You helped her hide this."

Gibbs shrugged. "You've met their father."

Vance nodded. "We worked together many years ago, in Amsterdam. I was field agent, he had yet to become deputy director. We were friendly."

Ziva shrugged. He could tell her father whatever he wanted.

"But," Vance said, sternly enough to make her pay attention again, "a number of intelligence agencies have recently begun to suspect the involvement of Mossad in missions well outside the purview of that organization." He looked at Ziva questioningly, and she shrugged.

"I would not put it past him."

"I need you tell me what you can," Vance said firmly.

Ziva slowly began. "My father has lost trust in me since I first began at NCIS. I believe he had some idea that I was involved in Ari's death, though he never said so. Recently he set me and Agent Rivkin together, to spy on each other and report to him. But we did what we could to protect each other. I told them he was too far away for close monitoring, but seemed fine. He told them I was personally involved at NCIS but professionally loyal to Mossad." She took a breath to hold her voice steady. "I am still fairly certain Rivkin was only following orders. His mission in Los Angeles was certainly approved. And I have not seen evidence that he was involved in the attack at SecNav's home."

"I have," Tony said quietly, speaking for the first time.

She turned quickly to face him.

He spoke directly to her, his tone apologetic. "The computer Abby examined, from Tabal's apartment—it had been online at your apartment. He must have planted it when he killed Tabal. That," he paused, "that's what I was coming to tell you last night."

Her eyes traced his face, trying to find a lie. There was none. She turned back to Vance. "Well then. I still have to reason to think my father was using Michael for his own purposes. There is no other reason for him to bug that meeting."

Vance nodded slowly. "Your father had asked me to watch you closely too, though I have never had reason to question your loyalty to NCIS before now. I'll be perfectly honest, the agencies have assigned me to take his measure, to investigate your father's management without his knowledge." He glanced around, confirming their attention. "If you mean to continue to work with us, and I believe you do, we need to find a way to get the information we need while we're here."

"How?" Ziva asked simply.

"We need it confirmed that he ordered Rivkin to do what he did in the US. And we need to find some way to monitor him over the next few months."

Ziva's eyes dropped to her lap. "It is likely that he will not let me return with you. The bomb was meant to kill _me_. Even if he lets me live, he will not trust me out of his sight."

Vance thought. "Well, we can use that. We just have to convince him you're not more loyal to us."

"How?" Now it was Gibbs asking. "I won't leave her there to die, Leon."

"We'll have to stage something," Vance told them. "We have to make them believe the actions of this week have destroyed Ziva's relationships with us. We need to have a plan."

They spent the rest of the flight laying it out, planning as best they could the confrontations of the next day. Ziva would rile her father, Tony would draw him out about Rivkin. Tony and Gibbs would find opportunities for public confrontations with Ziva. And at some point Gibbs would slip away, undetected, and drop a cellphone with Rebekah, so Ziva wouldn't be cut off from them in the operation ahead.  
As they disembarked, later, Ziva's eyes caught on the coffin. Its presence on the plane had faded from her mind. She raised her eyes to glare at Hadar for seeming saddened by its presence, daring to kiss her cheeks, thanking her for coming. And then they were climbing into the cars, Ziva at the wheel, and the plan was underway. It occurred to her as she swerved through the streets that for the very first time, she actually _was_ being disloyal to her father, to Mossad. But the decisions she had made in the last few hours felt more right than anything had in a long time. And now she would do what she had to.

***

Revealing her inner turmoil to her father took little acting, and Ziva slipped into the observation room a little while later, nodding to Vance and Gibbs that she had been successful. On the screen, Eli commented that the death of the American agent was an accident, confirming that he had ordered Rivkin to bug the meeting.

The Americans avoided reacting, but she could tell from their tensing shoulders that they too had understood the implications.

Then Tony let loose. "Speaking of family, what kind of father would thrown an out-of-control assassin at his own daughter? What kind of business are you running here? Huh? Everyone just runs around doing whatever the hell they want?"

Ziva jerked back at Tony's words. It almost surprised her that she had never asked the question.

"They do as I say," her father sneered.

"Rivkin?"

"Always."

Tony looked into camera just to make sure Ziva took the point, and she did. Rivkin was under orders. Tony had cleared his name. But her heart still ached because what Tony didn't think of was that this made Ziva even more of a traitor. If he was following orders, she shouldn't have called in Hadar. And it made her even more sure that the bombing had been targeting her; they would not have set it to kill Michael if they knew he was obedient.

Emotion flowing through her again, she searched out Hadar. Proving her distress to him wasn't going to be work either. She wrapped an arm around his throat.

"You called me, remember?" Hadar gasped.

"To remove Rivkin from harm."

"Harm from whom?"

"Himself." She wondered how long he would carry out the charade.

"Circumstances had changed."

"And this was your answer?"

"I protect the Mossad."

She continued the angry exchange, forcing the issue.

Hadar finally snapped back. "Rivkin was in chaos. You knew and yet you decided not to tell your father--you tried to protect Rivkin, but in truth, you are the reason he is dead."

And there it was, the truth. She threw him away from her angrily, yelling.

Hadar laid it on her instead. "All we could do was clean up after him. And you."

She repeated over and in her head that it wasn't true.

Gibbs approached, and Hadar's voice softened.

"There is no one left to blame. Stop looking." He handed her the photograph from her apartment: Tali, Ziva, Ari. She thought of Ari, that first deep betrayal, years ago now but still the first true blow to her trust. Still deeply painful. And now her father. This was true.

"Hadar set the fire," she told Gibbs softly when Hadar was out of earshot.

"Covering for Rivkin."

"I was betrayed. By Mossad, by my father, by Tony...who's next? You?"

He looked at her gently, his eyes pressing upon her the face that his coming words were for the benefit of others. She nodded fractionally to tell him she knew.

"How can you say you were betrayed?" Gibbs snapped. "You didn't know what you were doing and you ended up betraying _us_!"

"It is impossible to serve two countries at once!" she answered angrily.

"Then you'd better decide which it is you mean to serve!" Gibbs stalked off without waiting for a reply, his body language speaking volumes. Ziva glanced around quickly, confirming that enough people had heard to get word quickly to her father. She turned and went inside.

***

In Eli's office, Vance smoothly covered for Gibbs with an excuse about coffee, glad for confirmation that Gibbs had gotten away to Officer Meir without difficulty.  
"It's been a long time, my friend," Eli said jovially.

"Amsterdam."

Eli nodded.

Vance was mild, but slowly got confirmation of what they had suspected: Rivkin had been under orders, both in LA and in DC, but had never gotten the information he'd been sent for. Vance was glad to learn as well that he still had Eli's trust.

As he rose to leave, Vance glanced as a photo behind Eli's desk. "Is that Ziva?"

"Yes."

"She's been a good agent for us, Eli," Vance said firmly, hoping to do his part to keep her safe.

"I should hope so."

And now for the dangerous part, the moment when Eli would have to reveal whether or not he planned to kill his daughter. "She told me she'd even killed her brother to protect her country."

Eli stiffened. "She was under my orders," he answered firmly.

Vance nodded slowly. She'd be safe for now, then. If Eli had wanted an excuse to kill her, he would simply have announced it then and there, with reason many would accept. Vance turned to leave.

"Before you go," said Eli, "a gift." He extended a cloth-wrapped frame.

Vance pulled the cover back to reveal an image of them, much younger, standing with a group of world leaders in Amsterdam.

"For your wall," Eli said with a shrug, gesturing to similar pictures that decorated his office.

Vance nodded his thanks, and took his leave. As he crossed the lobby, he nodded to DiNozzo to get the next stage underway.

***

Ziva saw Tony's reflection in the glass of the door. He gave a slight nod, knowing she'd catch it, and they began.

"I had no choice."

"That's a lie."

"Why would I lie to you, Ziva?"

"To save your worthless ass." He raised an eyebrow a hair at the unusual phrase from her.

She slowly approached him.

"From who? Vance? Mossad?" He was disdainful on the last.

"You jeopardized your entire career, and for what?"

"For you." He said it truthfully and could see in her reaction that she knew. "He was playing you, Ziva."

"For some reason you felt it was your job to protect me?"

"I did what I had to do."

"You killed him."

"If I hadn't you'd be having this conversation with him, but maybe that's the way you'd prefer it."

"Perhaps I would." Her words echoed off the stone. They hadn't scripted this, and she could see a hint of fear in his eyes that she might not be lying.

"Why don't you just get this out. Wanna take a punch? Take a swing?" Tony was shouting now. "Get it out of your system! Go ahead! Do it!"

She tossed the barbs back and forth with him, taking him down after a moment, as slowly as she could without making it look fake. She spilled out the details of his report, noting genuine surprise in his face.

"I memorized it!" She spewed on, what he had done, what he could have done.

And Tony said over and over, "you weren't there." And every time it hurt.

"But I should have been!" She finally gasped back, tears blurring her vision.

His face stiffened as he saw the tears. "You loved him."

This wasn't part of the plan, the code. He wasn't talking about Michael anymore.

"I guess I'll never know," she whispered, and stood, ignoring his winces. She looked back once before she reentered the building.

Just inside, she found Vance where he'd been watching through the glass.

He glared at her and she let her posture grow confrontational.

"He hasn't ordered me to stay," she said murmured.

"Nor has he demanded I release you," Vance answered, equally softly, looking away. "But I think you'll be safe here. See if you can't push him further."

Ziva shrugged hostilely and whirled, heading off quickly across the lobby. She took the stairs two at a time and breezed past her father's assistant, the prerogative of no other agent in all of Mossad. She flung open the door to his office.

"You told Michael to stay with me in DC. Why?"

"That is none of your concern."

"I have made it my concern."

"Do not question me, Ziva."

"Was any of it real?" she asked, borrowing the question from Tony after his undercover relationship.

"Does it matter?" He asked rhetorically. "Michael is gone. You must move on."

"It is no longer about him."

"Agent DiNozzo?"

"I need to know if he was right," she cut him off before he could suggest she was involved with  
Tony.

"He was jealous."

She hoped he would forget this idea once he heard about their fight. "Even if that were true it does not make him wrong! Now answer me! Was it real?" She pushed, kept pushing until Eli finally raised his voice.

"I expect your loyalty, to me and only me! You want to know Michael's assignment, make this your aliyah! Return to me, to us! You finish what Michael started."

Ziva had a sudden burst of clarity, of calm. All the puzzle pieces of the last months snapped into place. The plan was complete, she knew her role, she had people to trust to watch her back. "Alright," she whispered.

"Yes?" her father said, retaking his seat.

"I just need to ask Gibbs, in the right way, to release me from my commitment there."

Eli raised his eyebrows.

"He is a difficult man to handle. If you ask, he'll resist just to be stubborn. It would make problems."

Her father shrugged. "Very well. I will accompany you to the airport."

She nodded. So he still didn't fully trust her. Well, she didn't need it. "I'll just get my things, I understand the flight leaves in an hour."

"Your things?" her father asked as she reached the door.

"To take home," she said softly.

When he didn't speak again, she took his silence as dismissal and headed out.

There was a comfort to walking the halls of Mossad. Ziva knew every twist and turn, every shortcut. She didn't have to pause and reset her brain to read any of the signs. Every so often she'd pass someone who'd greet her with a smile, a friendly word. This she didn't mind.

She was feeling better than she had in days as she descended the flight of stairs into the dormitory wing where the NCIS team had been told to leave their things. The world was ordered again, and she was glad.

As Ziva turned a corner and crossed the threshold into the sitting room where their bags were, she stopped abruptly.

Vance and Gibbs' bags were gone, but there was Tony with his, its contents strewn about except for a sweatshirt rolled up for use as a pillow. He was half-asleep on a couch but rose as soon as he saw her.

"Tony," she said quickly, holding up a hand to keep him at bay.

"They tried to kill you," he said, softly but fervently. "There's no reason not to try again. Please don't stay. Be as angry as you want, for as long as you want—with me, with them, I don't care--"

Kicking the door shut behind her, Ziva let her hand fall and stepped toward him. She leaned up to lay a single kiss to his lips, pressing closer even as he grabbed her shoulders to hold her there.

Ziva pulled away, grabbed up her own bag and slid the strap over her shoulder.

"Ziva." His voice was pleading.

"Pack up," she whispered without turning to look at him, and left.

***

In the car on the way to the airport, she didn't make eye contact with anyone. There couldn't be anything later to make the agent driving suspect she had been plotting with the others. On the runway, she slowed as the others approached the plane. "Gibbs!" she called out.

Ahead of her she could see Tony jerk to a stop, body taut, and Vance's hand on his shoulder pushing him onward.

"Plane leaves in five minutes, Ziva," Gibbs told her.

"Not without us it doesn't. I think it is best if I speak from the heart." That was their key word. He knew what was coming.

"Yeah, it usually is."

Ziva felt her face constrict with sadness she had not anticipated as she laid out the reason they'd come up with earlier. "I need to be able to trust the people that I work with," she said finally.

Acknowledgment flickered across his face. This, he knew, was her speaking the truth.

"I know you more than anyone understand that."

He glanced toward her father and she nodded.

Gibbs looked back to her, the saddest she'd ever seen him look. Earlier, when they'd agreed on this part of the plan, he'd been quiet. Ziva blinked back dampness from her own eyes.

He leaned to kiss her cheek, a farewell gesture if there ever was one for him, and she knew he thought they might not meet again. She tried to dodge it, but he pressed his lips to her cheekbone for a brief moment.

"Take care of yourself." He walked away.

***

They were silent again while the plane took off, and then a good deal after that, as Tony and Gibbs tried to breathe through their grief.

Finally, Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, but Vance shook his head for silence. Vance rose and crossed the narrow walkway and took out an instrument. He waved it over the package he'd received from Eli and they watched the instrument light up. He looked up at them to confirm they understood, then walked to the front of the plane and gave it to the pilot to hold before sealing the cockpit door again.

"Now he's bugging you?" Gibbs asked when Vance returned to his seat.

"It seemed like he trusted me, but I'll live," Vance said sardonically.

"What did he tell you?" Tony asked shortly.

Vance glanced at him in surprise at the tone, but laid out the details of his meeting. "He wasn't lying about the activity in north Africa. Macy and I have been tracking chatter a while that confirms it. Or rather, tracking silence."

Gibbs nodded. "Well, I'll be in touch with her once we hear from Ziva."

"No," Vance said.

"What?" Gibbs sounded irritated.

"Only the three of us can know about this."

"What about my team?" Gibbs snapped.

Vance sighed. "You know how these things are. The more people know, the less safe Ziva is. And the way Abby and Ducky talk, the secret would never be safe."

"And McGee couldn't keep it from Abby," Tony murmured.

Gibbs glared at him like he wanted to slap him.

"Sorry, Boss. Just playing devil's advocate."

Gibbs looked back to Vance. "Fine."

"If Macy gets relevant information, I'll pass it along."

Gibbs nodded acquiescence.

"So what do we tell them?" Tony asked.

Vance shrugged. "Same story she gave Gibbs. Wanted him to send one of you away."

Gibbs looked uncomfortable, but it was Tony who spoke. "But it's not something he'd do."

"So?" Vance seemed unconcerned. "Hopefully they'll only have to buy it for a little while. We gave Eli the real information Rivkin collected to ensure he wouldn't suspect us or Ziva, but from here on out we should be able to get good information through her and get bad information to Eli through the bug. I hope just as much as you do that this is over soon."

Neither Gibbs nor Tony answered.

Later, when Vance had fallen asleep, Tony took out his phone and flipped it open. Would she be home yet? What time was it there? Was she still...safe?

Gibbs took hold of Tony's wrist, making him look up.

"We'll get her back," he said firmly, then released Tony and closed his eyes.

Tony watched his profile as Gibbs drifted off. He'd heard Gibbs say those words in so many variations and situations over the years that as much as he wanted reassurance, he knew that just Gibbs saying so didn't make it true.

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A/N Well, I used the word 'radically' at the top for a reason! I accept that this is an unlikely interpretation, but I wanted to do more than rehash the episode. I am planning for there to be more chapters to this, but I'll be away for the weekend so no more til Monday or Tuesday. Hope you liked. ~Em


	19. Return: Tel Aviv

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N Yes, I am continuing this, although the chance this will happen on your TV screens in September is remote at best. BTW, the last chapter (Aliyah: Tel Aviv) was the second chapter I posted last Wednesday and from the traffic it seems that because it didn't pop to the top of the list a lot of readers couldn't find it. Or maybe half of you gave up after the chapter before, but I hope not! So check it out if you haven't, or this chapter won't make any sense.

This chapter takes place sometime during the montage at the end of Aliyah. Settling in in Tel Aviv, Ziva begins to face the consequences of the last few days of her life.

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**Tel Aviv**

"Ziva."

She ignored him, watching the plane fly off, willing herself not to cry. Her father's hand took hold of her elbow, his fingers digging into her skin until she flinched and turned to him.

"Come ride with me."

She tensed against him, wanted to say no, wanting to pull away. But she had to be his good daughter now, it was the only way to stay safe. Ziva turned to him with a smile, trying to seem only mildly nostalgic. "It's hard to say good-bye after so long," she said softly.

Her father tilted his head, studying her. Ziva could remember looking up at him like this as a child, waiting for his approval, sure that he knew every detail of her inner mind. He'd seemed omnipotent then, and she'd been drawn to that, to the sense of surety and power he exuded. Not until later, having become her mother's daughter instead of her father's, did she understand the danger of being so close to that power when she had no influence over it.

"Go home then," he said gently. "Take tonight and tomorrow to recover yourself and adjust to the time change. I'll see you the next morning."

"Thank you," Ziva said formally. Her father leaned forward and kissed her gently on the center of her forehead, and she was surprised by the gesture. It had been so long since there had been any spontaneous gentleness in this man.

Eli released her elbow and walked back toward his car, and Ziva turned back toward the plane, but it was gone. She walked to the other car, got in and gave directions. She could still feel the plane, flying off toward home, could already feel the absence of Gibbs and Tony and McGee and Abby like a sinking grief in her stomach. Closing her eyes, she sank into the cold, blank exterior she'd been trained to present. She was Mossad again.

***

She picked the lock to the apartment, found a note from Rebekah: _Working overnight, back in the morning. Love you._ Ziva sighed with relief. She wanted to see her friend, but she had so much to process in the meantime. In the last 72 hours she had slept with Tony, lost Michael, narrowly avoided being blown up, conspired to commit espionage and treason, and gone into a deep undercover op among people who would not hesitate to kill her. Ziva laughed tiredly, hysterically, as she listed the recent traumas in her mind. Dropping her bag beside her bed, she laid down and slept.

Ziva woke in darkness. She looked at her watch in confusion for a moment before realizing she hadn't reset it after leaving DC. She added seven hours. That made it...four o'clock in the morning. With a sigh she scooted up the bed to rest her head on the pillow.

After several minutes of shifting and stretching, she gave up. So much for adjusting to the time change. Ziva rose, washed up, and wandered into the living room. Now wide awake, she noticed for the first time that beside Rebekah's note were the cellphone Gibbs had given her and a newspaper folded open. She scanned it quickly before her eyes landed on the notice Rebekah had surely intended for her: an obituary.

_Michael Rivkin, son of Oskar and Sara Rivkin, died two days ago at the age of 38 and is __survived by his mother and younger sister, Ruth._

The simple sentence overwhelmed her, and she sank into the couch, clutching the newspaper. The other details had been falsified—the obituary claimed he was a banker, that he had died of a heart attack while traveling. She wondered how much of the truth his family knew, hoped that they had been spared the sight of Michael's body. The last sentence took a full minute to register: _Shiva will be held at his mother's home. _The next lines gave her address.

As her brain wrapped around the words, Ziva found hot tears welling in her eyes. How exhausted and lost she must have been to tell Ducky that Michael's body need not be treated as religious rites dictated. Shouldn't it have occurred to her that it might be important to his family?

Her guilt and grief and disorder drove Ziva into motion. She searched through Rebekah's room for running clothes and threw them on, took to the streets and ran.

If asked, she couldn't have repeated back the Rivkins' address, but quickly enough she found herself there, just as the sky began to lighten. Ziva retreated into an alley opposite their house. It wasn't upscale or fancy, but it was well kept, and she could imagine Michael as a child, playing in the narrow yard.

She drew back further as the front door opened, and a woman stepped out in a nightgown and bathrobe. Her hair hung limply, and Ziva could see despite the distance that there was a deep tear in the fabric of her nightgown, on the left side, above the heart. This was Michael's mother. Sara. She walked further into the yard, seeming confused, then located the newspaper. She stared down at it for a long time before stooping to pick it up.

***

When Ziva reentered the apartment, she found Rebekah bustling about the kitchen. She stopped at once as Ziva came in and rushed to hug her. Ziva rested her cheek on her friend's shoulder, grateful for the comfort.

"Went for a run?" Rebekah asked gently, pulling away and wrinkling her nose at Ziva's sweaty form.

"I went to see Michael's family," Ziva said softly, looking away.

Rebekah at once put her hand back on Ziva's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Ziva shrugged, honestly unsure. She took a seat at the kitchen table, while Rebekah poured her a cup of tea and sat down beside her.

"So, I met Gibbs," Rebekah said after several minutes of watching Ziva sip her tea.

Ziva smiled reflexively. "What did you think of him?"

Rebekah's eyes sparkled. "Quite attractive. When he first told me he worked with you at NCIS, I wondered if he was Tony."

Ziva clapped a hand over her mouth before she could spit out her tea from laughing and Rebekah giggled.

"They are very different," Ziva said when she could speak again.

"And why is it you need this phone?" Rebekah asked, humor gone from her voice.

Ziva looked her over carefully. "I could get you in trouble by telling you."

"You think I care?" Rebekah's tone hardened.

"No," Ziva's voice was inversely soft. "But I want to be sure you understand."

Rebekah nodded. "Alright, then. I understand. Clearly your old boss wouldn't be giving you a secret cellphone if everything was above board with your Dad. So tell me what's going on."

Ziva took a deep breath, then began, laying out the last several months of romance and intrigue with Michael, stopping at his death. She left out Tony for the time being.

Rebekah cocked her head as Ziva finished, and raised her eyebrows in a way that Ziva knew from long experience meant she was preparing for sarcasm. "Didn't I tell you not to sleep with Michael?" she asked wryly.

Ziva laughed, a hint of wildness creeping in.

"So what's with the phone?" Rebekah asked when she'd calmed.

"The Americans also want to know what my father is up to. I'm working for them still, though without his knowledge."

Rebekah nodded slowly. "I figured."

Ziva shrugged. "So that's that." Her voice wavered just a bit, surprising her.

Her friend noticed at once and reached out to take her hand. "What's wrong?"

Ziva took a deep breath, swallowing tears.

"You're upset over Michael?"

She shook her head, then shrugged. "As much as everything fell apart, NCIS still feels like home to me, and I had to watch them fly away, Gibbs and Tony. And Tony..." she didn't finish the sentence, but raised her eyes to Rebekah, communicating with a single look of pleasure and guilt and fear of judgment what had passed between them.

Rebekah studied Ziva for a long moment. "I asked you last year if you loved him."

Ziva shook her head. "Don't ask me now."

Rebekah slid her chair closer so she could wrap her arms around Ziva again. "With any luck, you'll be back there sooner than later," she said softly.

Ziva nodded, resting contentedly against her friend.

After a moment, Rebekah pulled away. "Okay," she said firmly. "You go shower while I eat something, then come sleep with me. It seems like you could use some snuggling."

Ziva smiled, relaxing, and followed orders.

In the bathroom, stripping off her running clothes, she stiffened as she saw her reflection, saw the lingering traces of her encounter with Tony. She ran her fingers over the faint bruises on her hip, then sighed and turned to step into the shower. If only she could wash them away too—there could be nothing distracting her in the coming days, or she'd never see him, see any of them, again.


	20. Secrets: Washington DC

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N This chapter falls a week after Aliyah ends. Do I need to keep saying they're not mine? I figure you all know it by now. :( Also, a word on post-Aliyah fics: I knew for a while that I'd get to this point sooner or later, so I made a concerted effort not to read any other stories about Aliyah. If this seems to be overlapping with the others out there, well, we were similarly inspired. And I'll try to go back and catch up on and review some of the others when this is all done with.

_____________________________________________________________________

**Washington DC**

The ding of the elevator brought Tony back to consciousness, but he didn't open his eyes. It was a struggle just to remember where he was, though it certainly wasn't the first time he'd woken to the particle board of his desk pressed into his cheek. It was clear after a minute that whoever had been in the elevator wasn't from his team, or he'd have been head-slapped already, but Tony dragged his eyes open anyway, focusing on the cellphone in his hand. He pressed the button on the side and the screen lit up an icon: 1 new message.

Flooded with adrenaline, Tony straightened up so quickly his head spun. He flipped the phone open and read the message. One word: _Unicorn_.

He grinned so widely his face hurt. Every other day or so, he'd get a word or two, something that seemed random but made complete sense to him. This was the fourth in the week she'd been gone: _Superglue, Air Guitar, Headslap._ Proof that she was alive, safe, not under duress. He knew he couldn't respond, but this was enough, just barely enough, to keep Tony from losing his mind.

As the grin faded from his face, Tony tasted his own mouth and grimaced. He glanced at the clock: 0550. If he rushed, he could shower in the locker room before Gibbs and McGee made it in. He rushed.

***

Gibbs took the elevator straight to Vance's office when he arrived, and breezed past Cynthia to fling open the door. Vance met his eyes. Gibbs looked hard at the bugged photo on Vance's wall, then jerked his head in the direction of MTAC without speaking. Vance followed, equally silent.

Once they were in the secure room, and the staff dismissed, Vance spoke. "What?"

"What have you heard?"

Vance sat down at one of the workstations and opened an internet window. "She sent this to you too, you know. You should learn to check your email."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and looked over the man's shoulder. "What does it say?"

"She's been assigned to look into the documents Rivkin recovered, in an effort to find the training camp he was searching for." He glanced up at Gibbs. "It's a good thing now that we gave them the real thing; she'd be under even more suspicion if her work didn't pan out."

Gibbs grunted agreement.

"She's had a few meals with her father, but they haven't discussed business. We have to give her time, Gibbs. I know you don't like it, but her position there seems less insecure than we feared."

"You trust him?" Gibbs asked shortly.

"Who, David?"

"Yeah."

Leon looked away, shook his head. "No."

"Then let's get this done as quickly as possible." Gibbs turned, headed for the door.

Vance stood, calling after him. "Gibbs."

He stopped at the threshold.

"We're going to have to have a conversation about how we can hire her if she's no longer Mossad."

Gibbs shrugged with irritation. "Think of something." He left.

***

Tony rubbed the towel over his hair one last time and sighed at his reflection in the mirror. This would have to do. He pulled on his suit jacket, wishing he'd remembered to bring in a new change of clothes. At least he'd found a clean shirt.

Stretching one last time, still not quite recovered from another night at his desk, Tony headed out of the gym part of the complex and through the passages that took him to the elevator up to the bullpen. As he passed Abby's lab, he saw her door open, and stepped in.

Abby turned from her computer as he entered. "Hey, Tony," she said tiredly.

"What's up, Abbs?"

She shrugged. "Why haven't we heard from her?" she asked, a hint of a whine in her voice.

Tony caught himself sharply from expressing only sympathy, forced worry and anger into his face. The worry came easily. "Maybe she's already assigned somewhere new," he offered. "But I don't think I'd hear from her anyway. She seemed pretty upset at me."

Abby snatched Bert up in her arms and squeezed him hard. "Well sure, at you. But she and I were always friends!"

Tony decided not to mention Abby's initial dislike of Ziva and instead walked to her table, glancing over its contents. The objects there were all charred, and as he recognized the half-burned cover of a Hebrew novel, a chill went through him. If she'd gone home straight from the hospital... He looked up at Abby, shaken. "Why do you still have her things out?"

She avoided his gaze. "I was looking for more clues. For proof that maybe she was innocent."

Tony nodded slowly. He hated this part. "We may never know, Abs."

There were tears in Abby's eyes as she shook her head hard. "I know you don't believe that Tony."

Rather than answer, he lifted a box that was on the corner of the table. It had a three digit combination lock and seemed least harmed of all the things there. "What's this?"

"It's a box, Tony," Abby answered, annoyed.

He gave her a Gibbs look. "Ya think?"

Tony was rewarded with a grin for his impression.

"I can't get it open," Abby said.

"Mind if I try?"

"Knock yourself out." She turned back to her computer.

Tony tried some combinations at random. None of them worked. He spun the dials over and over, pulling at the clasp, but none worked. Eventually he shrugged and set the box back on the table.

"I'm gonna go up, Abby. I'll see you later," he said softly, walking around the table to stroke her shoulder.

Abby spun on her stool and threw her arms around him. "Don't ever leave without saying goodbye, Tony. Promise me."

He twitched his nose, which was millimeters from impalement on a spike. "I promise," he said softly.

***

As the elevator doors slid open, Tony took a step forward to enter, only to find Gibbs already inside. His boss stepped to the side, and when Tony joined him Gibbs let the doors close and pressed the emergency button.

"Abby's a mess," Tony said softly, urgently. "McGee too, but he won't say so. And he's even more confused about whether she was guilty since he doesn't love as blindly as Abby—"

"I know," Gibbs cut him off.

"So?" Tony pressed.

Gibbs shook his head. "For the moment, we need things like they are. Eli David thinks we all believe that Ziva was a traitor in midst, and he seems to be trusting her."

Tony sighed heavily.

Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment. "I know, Tony. I don't like it either." He pressed the button that sent them into motion again, and they walked together into the bullpen, both glaring at the empty desk where Ziva used to be.


	21. INS Hanit: The Red Sea

**Pivotal Moments**

This chapter takes place two weeks after Ziva's return to Tel Aviv. Technically I'm reordering the time line of the montage at the end of Aliyah, to make the clip of Ziva on a ship happen a little later, but...it was a montage. I'm calling it creative license.

___________________________________________________________________

**Red Sea**

As Ziva walked up the gangway of the Sa'ar Corvette, it shifted beneath her feet just enough to summon a memory of McGee dashing for the head of a black ship- sheep? -they'd investigated so many years ago now. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she suppressed it quickly. Knowing what McGee must think of her now was enough to kill her good humor. She walked the rest of the way to her quarters without a flicker of emotion.

It had been less than a day since she had deciphered enough of Michael's notes to identify the location of the training camp, fewer than 12 hours since she'd received the assignment to ship out on the INS _Hanit_ to Djibouti, then make her way undercover into Eritrea, to confirm the location of the camp. Her father had made a comment about how fitting it was that she was going to travel with the Navy, but Ziva hadn't taken the bait.

As she looked around the quarters she'd been assigned to for the three days of the journey, Ziva was just as glad she hadn't ever been an agent afloat. Sharing with men wouldn't be a problem, at least once one of them tried leering at her, but the recycled air and lack of windows felt oppressive. _Abby would like it_, she thought, and because she was alone Ziva didn't stop a smirk from crossing her face.

The men assigned to the room entered behind her and she gave a cursory greeting, then chose a bed and unpacked the few things she'd brought. The photos of the team she'd had to leave with Rebekah, though she had hidden Gibbs' cellphone among her things, and it contained a few pictures Abby had taken long ago that made her smile. She had brought her photo of Tali and Ari, and this she hung beside her bed. Not that she needed a reminder of them, but if her resolve should weaken their image always served to remind her why her father needed to be stopped.

Her roommates left the room in search of their posts, and Ziva locked the door before taking out the cellphone and switching its sim card for one that would get service as she entered Africa. She debated sending a message before departure, but decided against it. Any transmission that got picked up would raise suspicion, so unless she had useful information to send, it was too dangerous to send anything.

Hiding the phone in the recesses of her bag, Ziva laid down on the bed. She'd been rushing around getting ready to leave, but now that she was still, the time ahead of her seemed oppressive. For the past two weeks her mind had done little but oscillate between guilt over her responsibility in Michael's death and longing for Tony that she tried fruitlessly to fight. Rebekah had told her over and over that both feelings were to be expected, were completely acceptable, but Ziva couldn't help fighting them. The mission had been a relief that was now on hold. Instead, as she tried to force herself to sleep, Tony smiled at her behind her eyelids, pulled her against him and kept her warm and safe while she slept...

***

The trip went uneventfully; the close quarters made her irritable, but none of the men were as bad as Tony on his worst days. Mostly they left her to herself, and Ziva didn't mind. The second night she snuck up to the deck to send a message: _Binoculars_. She laughed aloud as she pressed send, remembering the raccoon pattern decorating Tony's face while he continued the stakeout, unknowing.

***

Later she would wonder if she should have been suspicious that whole time, the days on the ship, those long weeks in Tel Aviv, would wonder if that one word message had signed her death warrant, but it would be too late. As she stepped off the gangway in Djibouti, in search of an internet cafe where she could contact Rebekah, hands locked around Ziva's wrists and shoulders, and she felt the sharp jab of a needle in her upper arm.

***

For the third time in a year, Ziva came slowly into consciousness with no memory of going to sleep and a throbbing headache. The other times, the smell of the hospital, the feel of a carpet had given her comfort, had told her that she wasn't in a cell. Now, instead, she could smell stale sweat, urine, blood, wet concrete. She could hear the soft squeaking of rats and, somewhere in the distance, the clang of a cell door. She was seated with her arms tied uncomfortably behind her back. As she squirmed to sit more comfortably, Ziva felt a wrenching in her joints that told her she had been moved here by force, with no concern for her well-being, and had been out for a while. Each new realization told her more completely that she was being held. Her body wanted to panic, but Ziva held her mind resolutely still. After a moment, with nothing else to be gained by appearing asleep, Ziva opened her eyes.

She couldn't suppress a jerk of alarm as she saw a man standing opposite her, leaning against the door to her cell. He hadn't made a sound as she'd woken.

"You are Ziva David," he said in Arabic.

Ziva wracked her brain. How would a member of the cell she'd been tracking know her? Surely they didn't have the resources to get into the fingerprint databases of the agencies she'd been with. The idea that he might be Mossad froze her. But she couldn't show that. Instead she tilted her head arrogantly, challenging him, her silence a refusal to even confirm her own name.

He struck her across the face, just because he could.

Ziva's head snapped back, pain exploding through her eye.

"We will talk later," the man said as he left.

Ziva closed her eyes, willing her head to stop pounding so she could figure out where she was and how to get free. The pain itself did not bother her. That, she assumed, she deserved.

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A/N The ship is a real one from the Israeli navy, information which comes courtesy of Wikipedia. Hanit means spear. If you're not up on your African geography (I wasn't either, had to do a bit of research) the order of the countries on the horn of Africa along the Red Sea is: Egypt, Sudan, Erithrea, Djibouti, Somalia. Djibouti is one of the stabler by far, so I decided that was where an Israeli vessel would probably find the friendliest port. Plus it's small enough that Ziva could quickly get to Erithrea...or Somalia...dun dun dun...


	22. Knowledge: Washington DC

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N So, the timeline for this is tricky because Legends and Semper Fi and Aliyah only took a few days, but the air dates were spaced out by weeks, so it's hard to know how they line up on a calendar in reality. But let's say for the sake of following the story that the events of Aliyah happened May 19th for real, and Ziva was left in Tel Aviv on the 20th. At this point I've decided she headed to Djibouti on June 4th and was captured June 7th. In storyland it is now June 10th.

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**June 10th: Washington DC**

213. 345. 256. Tony dialed in one combination after another. And then something happened. The latch clicked and two squares on the top corners of the box that had seemed to be metal suddenly lit up. He jerked back, then poked at one with a fingertip. The squares went dark. "Wait!" Tony demanded of the box. What combination had he put in? "Damn it," he swore. He couldn't remember.

"We do have work, you know," McGee snapped from his station.

Tony turned to glare briefly before trying another code.

"You can't just keep playing with Ziva's things and flipping your cell phone open every thirty seconds and expect Gibbs not to notice," McGee added.

Tony gripped the edge of his desk. He knew what it looked like, but it had been four days since he'd heard from her, and though she'd gone this long before between messages he couldn't help the panic nagging at him.

Gibbs strode toward them from the elevators, gesturing with his thumb as he said, "Tony. With me. Now."

Tony rose at once and followed Gibbs into the alcove by the stairs, careful not to look at McGee so he wouldn't have to respond to the other man's suspicions.

Gibbs stopped abruptly, glancing around to make sure they had privacy. "What have you heard?"

Tony shook his head. "Nothing, Boss. She's been sending me messages pretty regularly, but I haven't heard from her in four days."

His boss raised an eyebrow. "What kind of messages?"

Tony tried not to blush. "Stupid things, one word at a time, references to pranks over the years. So I'll know she's safe."

Gibbs stared at him hard, skeptically, and Tony squirmed but was relieved when Gibbs didn't make an issue of why Ziva would risk herself by reaching out to Tony.

"Why do you ask?" Tony said suddenly, realizing the reason for Gibbs' question.

Gibbs sighed. "It's been five days since Vance has had any kind of contact from her. She's broken the schedule she promised to stick to. It's possible she's just out of range or has a good reason not to make contact."

"There has to be some way to reach her," Tony said desperately.

"It's too bad none of us are spies," Abby said softly.

The men turned to look at her as she appeared around the corner.

"You know, it's just that Ziva is the one who'd be best at this, at finding someone."

"What did you hear, Abs?" Gibbs asked gruffly.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Was there something to hear?"

"Nope," he said emphatically.

Abby shrugged. "I guess I didn't hear anything, then." She breezed past them and on down the hall, and Tony watched her go, wondering what she knew but already distracted by Ziva's silence.

***

His distraction continued all day, and Tony knew he was fortunate that they hadn't caught a case, that he wasn't paying poor attention to anything more important than old paperwork. By seven o'clock, he was back to playing with Ziva's box. He hadn't gotten it to light up again.

"May I try?" a woman's voice asked huskily, inches away from him.

Tony started, clutching it toward him. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The woman pursed her lips, then pulled a leather wallet out of her pocket and flipped it open to show him her badge. "Rebekah Meir, Mossad."

Tony's eyes widened. "Mossad thinks they can just take Ziva back and then send us someone else to replace her?" he asked, aware that his voice was becoming increasingly loud and high-pitched.

She cocked her head. "You are Tony," she said softly.

He glared at her. "What, did you do profiles on us, too?"

Rebekah shook her head. "I am Ziva's friend, Tony." She held out her hands for the box. "Here, let me."

Tony held it out warily. Rebekah punched in two sets of numbers without success and he smirked. But on her third try, the corners lit up again and he sat up alertly, focused on the box. "Now, what?" he asked eagerly.

Rebekah pressed her thumbs to the lit squares. "It is keyed to her fingerprints," she told him as she pressed down. "And mine as the backup, since I was once her partner." As she pulled her hands away, the box latch shifted audibly, and Rebekah lifted the lid.

Tony peered over it, anxious to see the contents. There appeared to be mostly documents, passports and printouts, but Rebekah shifted them and lifted out a small stack of photographs. Flipping through them, she pulled one out and held it out for Tony with a smile. "Will this prove I know her?"

He looked at it carefully. In the picture Rebekah and Ziva wore camouflage, apparently in their army days. Ziva looked impossibly young to be in the army. Tony could barely take his eyes off her face. After a long moment studying the picture, the reality of Rebekah's presence struck him and he discarded the picture, dropping it back in the box, and spoke with alarm. "Why are you here?"

Rebekah's face tensed as she replaced the other pictures, but before she could answer Gibbs turned the corner and stopped short.

"Officer Meir," he said, agitation rippling across his face.

She turned to him. "Agent Gibbs."

He turned on his heel, waving for them to follow him. "MTAC, now."

Tony and Rebekah rapidly ascended behind him. In MTAC, he paged the director and turned to Rebekah. "Well?"

She spoke rapidly. "As you know, I believe, Ziva set out five days ago for Eritrea, to confirm the location of a terrorist camp that Mossad had been seeking for some time." Gibbs nodded that he knew. "She was to arrive in Djibouti two days ago, and promised to check in with me at once. She had a cell phone, yours, and we had also arranged to communicate through shared contacts and internet portals."

"And?" Tony asked, cold spreading through his body from her expression alone. He glanced over her shoulder as Vance entered behind her.

Rebekah looked at Tony sympathetically as she continued. "I have not heard from her since she left Tel Aviv. Yesterday I began to worry and used Mossad channels to get information, but no one could confirm her arrival in Djibouti or any communication with her. Nearly everyone seemed unaware of what mission she'd even been on."

"She was set up," Gibbs said grimly.

Rebekah nodded. "Her father called me in personally twelve hours ago to tell me that her mission was now classified and she was undercover, that I was to stop looking. When I asked who her control officer was, he dismissed me." She shrugged defensively. "I could not ask other officers to disobey him, I did not know whom I could trust, so I came here. I know she would trust you to help her."

"Always," Tony said firmly.

"Tony heard from her three days ago," Gibbs said pensively.

Rebekah turned and looked at him, clearly not surprised. "You're sure it was her."

Tony nodded.

Rebekah shrugged. "Her father's words still make me think he has her somewhere." Her voice was soft but intense.

Vance spoke for the first time. "You think she is being harmed?"

"I am a Mossad officer, Director Vance," Rebekah answered, "and not easily frightened. I am terrified for her right now."

"You don't think she can take it?"

She looked down. "I know there's a point where she'll take her own life rather than suffer with no hope of respite or betray those she loves."

Tony felt nauseous. "So what do we do?" he asked swiftly.

Vance crossed the room and picked up a remote, flipping on some of the screens. "Macy and her team at OSP have been tracking Mossad movements for me for some time." He glanced at Rebekah, to see if she would object, but she didn't speak. "We focused especially on Eritrea since we knew Officer David was heading there, but Macy also noted movement in Djibouti and Somalia several days ago."

Rebekah nodded slowly. "Director David has contacts among some of the guerrilla groups there. They would likely do a favor for him if he asked." When Tony glanced at her, she looked pale even in the darkened room.

Vance punched a series of buttons, bringing up Macy on the big screen. Tony stood back as they charted activity across several days of satellite imaging of the horn of Africa, his critical mind too overwhelmed to process what they were saying until Vance finally pointed and said, "so she's probably in this region, here."

"Then let's go," Tony said heatedly.

Vance turned to look at him. "We need a pretense."

Gibbs shrugged. "Make one up later. Or say we accidentally acted on bad information. I don't care. Just get us enough men to take out anyone who might be guarding the place and a plane to get us there as soon as physically possible. I'll brief my team."

Vance glared at him for giving orders. "Gibbs, we'll have a chat about authority once your agent is safe."

"Whatever, Leon," Gibbs muttered, and strode out of the room, the others following him as Vance turned back to the computer bank.

As they swept out of MTAC, Gibbs turned to Tony and Rebekah. "You two go down to Abby's lab. I'll get McGee and Ducky and meet you there."

Tony nodded and turned, gesturing Rebekah to the elevator while Gibbs took the stairs. Just as they stepped in, her phone rang, and Rebekah stepped out again, flipping it open eagerly. Tony watched, rapt, only to see her face fall. She answered the phone, went through a few rapid exchanges in Hebrew that seemed to rapidly upset her, then closed it and returned the elevator.

"Everything alright?" Tony asked as the doors shut.

Rebekah squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Tony thought there might be tears in her eyelashes. "My father says to come home," she said, so quietly he strained to hear her. "He says it is probably too late, that he and my mother will set up the house so we can sit Shiva for Ziva."

Tony fought the urge to run away. There was nowhere to run anyway, here in this metal box. Instead he set a hand on Rebekah's shoulder. "We have to keep believing she is still alive," he said softly.

She nodded without returning his gaze. Neither spoke until the doors swung open again.

***

Tony led the way to the lab quickly, trying to keep thoughts of what might be happening to Ziva out of his head.

"Abby," he said as he entered, raising his voice above her music. Rebekah looked startled as she switched it off and Tony nearly grinned at how closely her expression matched one of Ziva's. "Abby, this is Rebekah Meir, from Mossad."

Abby raised her eyebrows haughtily, but Tony interrupted before she could give Rebekah the treatment she'd once reserved for Ziva. "She's Ziva's friend, Abbs. She's going to help us get her back."

Abby lit up. "Oh! Well, good then."

McGee entered, slightly out of breath from the stairs. "What's going on?"

Abby smiled at him. "We're going to get Ziva back!"

"Back for good?" McGee asked warily, and Abby turned perkily to Tony. He glanced warily at Rebekah, unsure what to say.

"Gibbs will explain," he finally said, and watched their expressions turn stony and worried. To his relief Tony heard Gibbs and Ducky approaching in the hallway, Ducky demanding to know what was going on.

"In here, Duck," Gibbs said shortly, and let Ducky enter before following him into the lab.

The team gathered in a circle, Ducky glancing curiously at Rebekah while the others were fixed on Gibbs' face.

"Well?" Abby finally said.

Gibbs took a breath. "Ziva wasn't a traitor."

"I knew it!" Abby shrieked. She quickly quieted when everyone else stayed serious.

"She was monitoring her father for NCIS. Vance ordered her mission kept as quiet as possible to keep her safe, but it seems she's been taken captive anyway."

This time Abby's response was wide-eyed silence.

"What are we going to do?" It was McGee who spoke.

"We're gonna get her back, McGee," Gibbs said, almost impatiently. "McGee, go up to MTAC and help Vance with the satellite tracking." With a nod, McGee left.

"Duck, Abby, I'm telling you now because you needed to know, because we need to do something else without Vance knowing."

Tony looked sharply at him. Gibbs looked instead at Rebekah. "We need to find out for sure if Ziva's father was behind this, and then we need to make sure he pays," Gibbs said.

Rebekah nodded, complete acceptance in her face.

Gibbs looked around the circle. "Tony and Rebekah and I will head out with the team to go after her as soon as we have a solid location." He turned and left, to go check on the status of the troops, Tony assumed.

Ducky extended his hand to Rebekah. "I'm Donald Mallard, Medical Examiner."

She shook his hand. "Rebekah Meir, Mossad."

"Thank you for helping us," he said gratefully.

Rebekah nodded. "We may need your help too," she said carefully, glancing sideways at Tony. "Ziva is probably," she paused, knowing the impact of her words, "is probably being tortured."

Abby's eyes went wide and panicked.

Rebekah pushed on. "I've learned it is a good idea to bring broad spectrum antibiotics and fluids and other first aid equiptment to rescues like this, in the hopes that we can...minimize any permanent damage." She looked toward Tony. He was pale enough to faint. There was one more thing she had to say. "She may also need a—what you call here a 'morning after' pill."

"You think she's been raped," Abby said, sounding strangled.

Behind her, Rebekah heard Tony flee the room. She looked at Abby, said gently, "I hope not, Abby."

Abby shuddered.

"I can get those things for you," Ducky said stiffly. "Come with me." He led her out and upstairs.

Once they were gone, Abby stumbled over her shoes to get down the hall to the men's room. She knocked once, then barged in. It was nearly 1900, and there were rarely people down here except to see her. "Tony?" she asked aloud when she didn't see him.

"Yeah," he gasped from behind the door to the handicapped stall.

She pushed it open and sat down beside him on the floor. Tony had his arms wrapped around his knees, his face hidden. His shoulders were trembling. "I tried to stop her," he whispered, "I told her not to stay, but she wouldn't listen..."

Abby wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Gibbs will get her back," she said unconvincingly.

Tony took her hand in his own, held it tightly. "And if he can't?"

Abby squeezed his hand back, but didn't answer. She had no consolation to offer.


	23. Decisions: Somalia

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N Two new chapters today, because I got excited and because I'll be busy all day tomorrow. See chapter 22 for notes on time-line.

Warning: Though it's not too graphic, this chapter is potentially disturbing.

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**June 12th: Somalia**

Ziva's eyes snapped open. There was nothing to be gained anymore by trying to figure out what was going on before they knew she was awake.

She laid still, broken, starring at the wall across from her, where flies were feasting on a smear of blood she couldn't remember leaving.

They had never asked her about Mossad, and that was proof enough. They knew who she was, and they didn't ask. Mossad had directed this. He'd just wanted her like this, torn, bruised, broken, violated.

Someone not trained in interrogation might have bought what these men had put her through as a tactic to get information, but Ziva knew better, knew well enough to know that some things never make people talk. It was apparent to her from the moment that her first interrogator threw her out of the chair and started tearing off her clothes that none of the questions even mattered.

Ziva wondered how she had ever believed her father a man incapable of wishing this on his daughter. A line Vance had repeated to her came back, the answer to the question of why Eli pursued the training camp so intensely. "He killed one of my people..." Of course, she thought sluggishly. She was the woman who'd killed his son.

She let her eyes fall shut again. Five long, hot African days with no food and barely any water had left her body parched and limp. After two she had finally stopped taking the pain as what she deserved, had been forced to still her mind and make a decision about whether or not to keep fighting. She was surprised that as soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Her guilt vanished, replaced by sudden, obstinate hope. There were people who loved her, and she could hold on. And for three more days, she had.

Ziva struggled to swallow and gagged. What moisture there was in her throat must be blood from some forgotten blow. Her head was throbbing where it rested on the concrete, and she had shut out awareness of her body but she knew that movement was impossible. She had a different decision to make now. No one in the world had any way of knowing where she was, and she couldn't hold out much longer. The only thing she could still control was how much more pain she had to endure before she died. Ziva forced her eyes open again, with difficulty rolled onto her back, and began to scan the room for anything she could use.

An hour later, she had a plan. As she lay still again, giving herself a little more time to gain strength, Ziva let herself float away for a moment to remembered comfort—her mother stroking her hair as she fell asleep on a thousand different nights; the peace of floating in the Dead Sea with Tali splashing nearby; the way Tony had held her, kissed her so gently that night. As the drift of memory carried her away into sleep, Ziva felt herself smiling, and wondered if she ever would again.


	24. Rescue: Somalia, Sigonella

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N If you missed the chapter where Rebekah turns up in DC and they plan a rescue op, click back to chapter 22.

Sigh. I drove the five hours back from Long Island to Baltimore today, and was thoroughly sleepy writing this just now. I hereby blame any typographical errors on I-95 :).

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**June 13th, Somalia**

A groan escaped her lips as Ziva pulled herself up onto the chair. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, but she forced them open as wide as she could in order as she stood carefully on the seat. She paused there a moment, what vision she had blurring.

If this worked, her jump would force the back of the chair against the right set of vertebra to leave her unconscious at worst, and at best—the tears slid down her cheeks. On any other day Ziva would have fought them, but there wasn't anything to gain anymore with toughness. Or with softness, she pointed out to herself. Or intelligence, or strength. It was over.

Gunfire in the distance shocked her into a twirl toward the sound that her brain ordered instinctively but which her torn muscles could no longer accommodate. With a muffled shriek, Ziva slipped off the chair.

The next thing she was aware of was a pair of man's hands on her body and she screamed, lashed out with the last of her energy to keep him away from her. She had been so close...

But then she felt herself calming, and a familiar scent floated around her. _Zibilya, _came a whisper from far away.

Ziva opened her eyes as best she could, found Rebekah's face inches from her own and sobbed with relief. Rebekah pressed a tear-streaked cheek to Ziva's own and whispered in her ear, "I need to give you a sedative, so we can move you without you feeling the pain."

Ziva managed to nod. A twinge of pain in her hip filtered into her brain, and then the world evaporated into softness and warmth and her mother singing a lullaby.

***

By the time Rebekah finished the first verse, Ziva was deeply asleep, and she stood quickly. "Help me carry her," she ordered Tony, who was standing frozen in a corner of the cell. When he hesitated, she snapped at him. "She didn't know who you were. But she needs you right now. They're still fighting. We have to get out of here."

Without speaking, Tony stepped forward and pulled a blanket from the first aid bag Rebekah had been carrying. Together they wrapped it around Ziva. As he lifted her, Tony couldn't suppress the memory of holding her like this weeks earlier, depositing her laughing onto her bed. She was so much lighter now.

Rebekah readied her weapon and led the way out of the compound, radioing to Gibbs that they'd secured Ziva. As soon as he joined them, they were into a plane and off the ground, leaving the rest of the troops to worry about holding the facility.

***

As soon as they were in the air and on their way to the Naval Air Station at Sigonella, a pair of doctors took over Ziva's care with Rebekah's supervision while Gibbs and Tony sat in worried but relieved silence. Twenty minutes out, Rebekah came to their row to join them.

"The doctors can update you," she said softly.

Gibbs rose at once, with a glance at Tony. Tony shook his head. Gibbs shrugged and headed toward the back of the plane.

Rebekah sank into the seat he had vacated. "You don't want to see her like this?" she asked Tony.

He shook his head again. "It's not that."

"What, then?"

Tony didn't answer.

Rebekah twisted in her seat so she could stare into his face. "She really didn't recognize you, before."

He looked at her hard. "Why should she want me here? I killed her lover. She has to blame me for that, and for leaving her behind--"

"Tony." Rebekah put her hand on his arm to stop him. "She blames herself for Michael's death much more than you. And—she told me what happened between you."

Tony's face reddened and Rebekah smiled encouragingly. "You'll have to wait until she wakes up to ask if you can stay, but in the meantime, I think you should trust me that she'd want you here."

Tony sighed, then focused on her intensely again. "She's going to wake up?" he demanded, a grin tugging at his face.

Now doubt flickered over Rebekah's features. She looked away.

"What?" He grabbed her arm to get her attention.

Rebekah looked back into Tony's face. "We'll have to wait and see, that's all they'll say."

Terror flared in his eyes.

Rebekah put her hand over his and squeezed. "Tony?"

He looked at her.

"Be with her."

Tony nodded somberly, then followed her down the aisle and back to where Ziva lay.

***

**June 14th, NAS Sigonella, Italy**

Tony's knock at the door roused Rebekah, and she slowly sat up, swinging her legs off the edge of Ziva's narrow hospital bed.

"Anything?" he asked eagerly.

She looked down at Ziva's bruised face and shook her head. "No change."

Tony passed her a cup of coffee, which she accepted and sipped gratefully.

"I'll sit with her a while," he said and Rebekah nodded. In the twenty-four hours since they'd arrived here, one or both of them had been with Ziva at all times except when she'd been taken into surgery. Now her bones were set, her internal damage had been repaired as well as it could be until she was more stable, and her blood loss and dehydration were resolved. But Ziva still had not woken.

With another glance at her friend, Rebekah rose to let Tony take her place and slipped out into the hallway. She found Gibbs there, slumped sleeping in a chair. The older man had left Ziva mostly to their care while he dealt with Vance and the political repercussions of their actions in Africa.

Rebekah leaned her coffee in his general direction and smirked as Gibbs jerked awake.

"What?" he demanded, looking up at her wearily and taking the cup. Then, suddenly alert, he looked toward Ziva's room and back up at her.

She shook her head tiredly and sat down beside him. "Do you know how Ziva and I met?"

"In the army," Gibbs muttered as he stretched enough to sit up straight.

Rebekah nodded. "As I'm sure you know, Ziva grew up with weapons and lessons in their use. While my father was also Mossad, he was a linguist and rarely if ever in the field. So I had none of her background." Her lips quirked, remembering the mortification of failing at every exercise compared to her bunk mate. "She showed me a few things, kept me from making too big a fool of myself. I got quite good in time, though never as good as she was."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, clearly asking what the point was. Rebekah didn't draw things out.

"Her skill was weapons. Mine was bombs." She looked into Gibbs' eyes, making sure he understood what she was saying.

Gibbs gave a slight nod.

"After she wakes up," Rebekah said softly.

Gibbs nodded confirmation again, and slid down in his chair so he could lean back against the wall again to sleep.

Rebekah sank into her own chair, only to jerk upright as Tony cried out from inside Ziva's room.

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A/N Ooo! Just one more chapter...maybe two? Let me know what you think!


	25. Recovery: Sigonella

**Pivotal Moments**

**____________________________________________________________  
**

**June 14th, NAS Sigonella**

Ziva had lost the practice of waking slowly, and when she opened her eyes, she was startled by the bright whiteness that surrounded her. Slowly the brightness resolved into ceiling tiles, walls, sheets and blankets and casts. There was a soothing scent of eucalyptus wafting through the room and Ziva could make absolutely no sense of what had happened.

As she focused on the transformation of her surroundings, a weight across her waist registered in Ziva's mind. Easing her head slightly to the side—the lack of pain told her she was highly medicated—she caught sight of Tony's sleeping face, and smiled. The familiar movement of her face brought back the pain at once and also the memory of wondering if she'd ever smile again. The past week returned in a rush, along with Rebekah's presence in her cell...sharpness returning, her situation suddenly became clear. Ziva started trembling, the conflict between her relief and her shock at how close she came to death overwhelming her still-fragile mind.

She did not realize that she was clutching Tony's hand in her chaos until his eyes opened. He stared straight into hers as he cried out wordlessly in joy and relief of his own.

Tony sat up quickly, as Ziva slowly turned her head to follow him, and then Rebekah and Gibbs were bursting into the room, their hands on hers, their eyes bright at the sight of her awake.

***

By the time her friends were done exclaiming over her and the doctors had finished checking her out, Ziva was exhausted again, and the questions in Tony's eyes only made her wearier.

"Let me talk to her a minute," Gibbs finally said firmly, sending the other two out.

Once they were gone, and the door closed, he pulled a chair up to the left side of the bed and sat down. His eyes searched Ziva's face, for what she wasn't sure.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Gibbs nodded. "We're all glad you're alright," he answered gruffly.

Ziva looked away. "What do you need to ask me?"

He paused, and she turned back to him to show her willingness.

"What did they ask you?"

"At first about NCIS, generally, but when I didn't answer they didn't bother to continue to question me." She pursed her lips and glanced away again. "They did not ask me about Mossad, though they knew who I was. I am almost certain my father sent them after me. There was no purpose to what they did to me except that I should die painfully."

Gibbs stroked the back of her hand. The gentleness nearly brought tears to her eyes.

"You were in Somalia. Rebekah said that pointed to your father, too."

The confirmation sent the tears in rivulets down her cheeks. Ziva brought her right hand to her eye to stop them but her motion was impeded by the cast on her wrist. After an awkward moment, she wiped her face dry, wincing as she touched the bruised skin.

"Rebekah and the others have some plans in the works for...actions we could take," Gibbs said slowly, ignoring Ziva's tears, much to her relief.

She took a deep breath. "Let me think about it," she said slowly.

He nodded once and stood. "We'll talk more when you're ready," he said. He crossed to the door and opened it. "Tony and Rebekah are going to want to be in here with you," he told her, a question in his voice.

Ziva sighed, sinking into the bed. "Send Rebekah, then," she said softly.

She heard his voice, muffled by the closed door, and then it opened again. Ziva curled on her side the best she could, and smiled without opening her eyes as the mattress sank behind her and Rebekah settled against her body.

"Zibilya," Rebekah whispered against the back of her neck, kissing the word into Ziva's skin.

Her tears returned, slipping down toward the pillow with a quiet sob, and Rebekah wrapped an arm gently around Ziva's waist, letting her get it out.

After several minutes, Ziva's breathing eased, and Rebekah asked softly in Yiddish, the language they'd both learned from their mothers, "So?"

Ziva sighed.

"The doctors said you'd been tortured, but your injuries..."

"They were not professionals," Ziva answered softly. She could feel Rebekah's nod. It had probably saved her life—her injuries were the result of undirected beating, not the sort of careful attention to pressure points and long-term permanent damage that both women knew well how to inflict.

Ziva laid her hand on Rebekah's and laced their fingers together, waiting for the next question. They had been through this before, when each had been captured undercover and held as spies, though never for so long. Though neither said so, they both knew that the simple fact they could have this conversation meant it could have been worse, as it had for many friends of theirs in the past dozen years.

"You were raped." Rebekah wasn't asking and Ziva was relieved.

"I fought back," she whispered, "they knocked me unconscious for most of it."

Rebekah squeezed her hand tightly. "Good."

After a long pause, Rebekah went on. "When you're ready, we're going to talk about what happens to your father."

Ziva sighed. "Gibbs said."

"He ordered your death, and not within the bounds of Mossad's license to assassinate." She heard Ziva's aggrieved sigh and hugged her closer. "We'll find a way to take him out, just say the word."

"I can't..." Ziva started. "I can't even think about him yet."

"That's alright," Rebekah assured her. "Just sleep now, then. Sleep and heal."

Ziva let her eyes fall shut, but then opened again. There was something else she had to say. "I was ready to jump. When you got there—I was going to kill myself." She felt one of Rebekah's tears hit her shoulder blade.

Rebekah didn't answer for several minutes, until Ziva was nearly asleep. When she did speak, Ziva strained to hear her. The words were nearly stifled by the tears in her throat as Rebekah whispered prayers of thanks, over and over, into Ziva's skin.

Echoing the words in her own mind, Ziva relaxed and slept, soundly, for the first time in a week.

***

The next two days were filled with slow convalescence and initial rehabilitation, as well as frequent video conferences once Abby got Tony to hook up a computer in Ziva's hospital room.

Ziva was laughing despite herself, alternately smiling and wincing in pain as Abby mimed McGee's efforts to wrestle to the ground a man who'd been overbearing toward Abby in a bar the night before, when someone knocked at the door and Rebekah entered, her stance and the tension in her face revealing her agitation.

"I have to go now, Abby," Ziva said, quickly and firmly, then closed the video window before Abby could question her. "What is it?" she asked her friend.

Rebekah fell unconsciously into a military posture. "Your father is coming here."

Ziva jerked back defensively. "How did he find me?"

Rebekah shrugged. "He has Italian contacts, no doubt." She stopped. "If you don't want to see him, we can keep him out for you."

Slowly Ziva shook his head. "We should hear what he says. But don't leave me alone," she added quickly.

Rebekah nodded at once, then a trace of a sly smile snuck across her face. "I took the liberty of having my father send some things from our apartment in Tel Aviv."

Ziva raised her eyebrows. "What things?"

Rebekah held up a bag she had set down on a chair when she entered, and set it by Ziva's legs before reaching in to pull out a yellow linen blouse, edged in eyelet lace, that made Ziva yelp in surprise.

"You went through my boxes?" she demanded.

Rebekah gave her a remonstrating look. "Would you have stopped me if you were there?"

"No." Ziva shrugged. "But you know that's not mine.

The sly look returned. "I don't think she'd mind, and I'd be interested to see the effect it has on your father."

"Reminding him of the daughter he lost in the presence of the daughter he nearly had killed?"

Rebekah smirked. "Something like that."

Ziva shrugged, gave a half smile as she struggled to sit fully upright. "Alright then, help me put it on." The other woman helped her out of her hospital garb and into the top and a pair of pajama bottoms that were soon hidden by the coverlet. When Ziva was redressed, Rebekah spoke again.

"Is there anything else I can help you do to get ready for him?"

Ziva simply looked up at her, wide-eyed and muted by the question.

A tumult in the hallway turned both women toward the door, the noise resolving as Gibbs was heard ordering Tony to stand down. Rebekah rapidly moved toward the door, opening it just wide enough to signal Ziva's willingness to Gibbs before moving to stand at Ziva's side.

Ziva laced her fingers through Rebekah's as her father's outline appeared through the frosted glass window in the door. After a moment, he entered, with Gibbs close behind.

"Ziva," her father said, stopping at the end of the bed, his voice deep, his face etched with concern.

"Shalom," she said woodenly.

"You cannot imagine how relieved I was to hear of your recovery—I only regret that I did not take Agent Meir," he indicated Rebekah, "seriously when she thought you were in danger."

Ziva studied her father, surprised to find herself calm and impartial after three decades of awe and fear of this man. Someone who didn't know him might have believed the worry and relief in his eyes, but she knew better. She watched as he took in her bandages and stiffened almost imperceptibly at the sight of her shirt. Ziva revealed none of her own appreciation for his discomfort. And to be honest, she felt very little. So little it startled her. After everything that had passed, she no longer thought of this man as her father, and that change alone lifted from her a daughterhood that had always been a burden. He was just a man, a man who had no morals and fewer scruples, a man who would hurt her and her friends if given the change.

"Get out," she said calmly in Hebrew.

Eli's facade faltered for a moment, his eyebrows lifting slightly as her words registered.

"I don't ever want to see you again," Ziva said firmly.

His lips pursed in dissatisfaction, but not heartbreak. As he turned and left without another word, Rebekah squeezed Ziva's hand tightly.

When she heard the fire door at the end of the hallway slam shut, Ziva spoke again, this time in English. "Make sure there's no way it can ever be traced back to you," she said coolly to the room. She looked at Gibbs. "Not for vengeance. Just so he can't hurt us again."

Gibbs nodded, then gestured Rebekah toward the door. She leaned down to kiss Ziva's cheek swiftly, then followed.

When they were gone, Ziva's fear of her father finally filtered into her brain, and she clenched her hands in the sheets, struggling to process what had happened. A second member of her family would soon be dead because of her. And only the fact that these few people did love her enough to save her kept Ziva from further desire to end her own life instead.

Tony stepped in after a moment, and Ziva smiled at him as he approached her bed. In the last two days, she hadn't found a way to speak to him, to tell him the things that were easy to share with Rebekah because she knew them firsthand. What she'd found herself most grateful for, however, was Tony's silence. While making no demands, he had never left her except with her explicit permission and a promise on his part to return shortly.

Now she scooted to one side of the bed and he sat beside her.

Tony reached out to touch the scalloped edge of her blouse. "What's this?" he asked, perplexed.

Ziva smiled. "A gift from Tali."

He raised his eyebrows in a question, but she shook her head, then stretched out her arms to him.

Tony wrapped his around her in turn and held her, and it occurred to Ziva like a revelation that she was still alive, that there was still time to create a family of her own with him, with these people around her who loved her.

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A/N I think one more chapter...


	26. Home: Washington DC

**Pivotal Moments**

A/N First off, let me say that I saw _The Proposal _with a friend yesterday and Michael Nouri (Eli David) was in it and I had a three-second freakout before I even recognized who he was. Too much NCIS? Methinks perhaps...or maybe it was just that I was planning his death...

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**June 28th, Washington DC**

There was a buzz at Tony's hip and he smiled. When he glanced up, he saw McGee smirking at the look on his face and angrily gestured the man back to his desk. But as he flipped his phone open, the smile returned. In the week since Ziva had been moved to DC, to finish her recuperation at one of the nearby military hospitals, she'd resumed her practice of leaving messages for Tony to assure him of her safety. This one said simply: _Home_. He relaxed as he read it. Today she'd been released from the hospital, and Vance's expression when Tony mentioned it had told him not to ask for more time off. But Rebekah must have gotten them safely to the apartment she'd spent the week renting and setting up; Tony had craftily sent her to check out places near his own home.

"Well?" Gibbs asked from across the aisle.

Tony looked up guiltily.

"How is she?"

"They made it to the apartment," Tony said quickly.

"Then put your phone away and get to work, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped. Tony closed the phone and returned it to his pocket, but when he glanced back at Gibbs, he was smiling, too.

***

Later that day, Tony was startled to glance up and see Rebekah leaving MTAC. He caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs.

"What's up?" Tony asked as casually as he could.

Rebekah grinned, seeing right though him. "Don't worry, she's safe. I left her cleaning and organizing the knives Abby recovered from her old place."

Tony smiled in spite of himself. "So what did Vance need you for?"

Rebekah hesitated, giving him a meaningful look. "Oh," she said lightly, "he offered me a position here if I want to leave Mossad."

"That's great!" Tony said in surprise. "Are you going to take it?"

Rebekah bit her lip. "Perhaps. I have to go back to Israel for a couple days before I can make up my mind. Would you mind staying with Ziva while I'm gone?"

Tony suppressed his urge to grin like an idiot, but the teasing expression on Rebekah's face told him she sensed his glee and approved. "I guess I could," he said cavalierly.

"I had better get back," Rebekah said quickly. "I need to pack, my flight leaves at seven. Can you come by after work?"

"Sure," he answered, and followed her with his eyes as Rebekah turned and left. Tony felt something loosen within him as he considered the opportunity to spend some uninterrupted time with Ziva. She hadn't really talked to him since her rescue, and he wasn't sure what was going on in her head. But this would be the perfect opportunity to find out.

***

Ziva pressed the release on the knife. It didn't open. She pressed again, and again, then finally tossed it to her left hand, sprung it open and flung it into a wall with a shriek of frustration. The cast on her right wrist was preventing her from all but the most basic functions, and now it was even stopping her from using her knives as they were meant to be used.

A knock at the door startled her so badly Ziva was glad she wasn't holding the knife any longer; she might have injured herself.

"Ziva?" Tony called out.

She relaxed at once, but still checked the peephole before letting him in.

"Hey," he said softly when she opened the door.

Ziva felt inexplicably shy. "Come in."

Tony held up his overnight bag in one hand and bags from Blockbuster and New China Kitchen in the other. "Brought some old favorites."

Ziva smiled. "James Bond?"

He shook his head woefully. "Nope, your old favorites."

She looked at Tony, perplexed, until he pulled _The Sound of Music _from the bag. Then she smiled faintly, and took it from him, turning to pop it into her new DVD player.

Tony watched her, confused himself. Perhaps she wasn't as back-to-normal as he'd thought. The thought didn't fade as the night progressed. Ziva sat at the opposite end of the couch from him the entire evening, never so much as tucking her legs up in his direction. She seemed only half-attentive to the rambunctious children on the screen, saving the rest of her interest for the door and windows and never singing along. And while he certainly intended to give her all the space she needed, it worried Tony that his partner still seemed so out of sorts.

When the movie ended, Ziva rose abruptly and said goodnight, then headed into the bedroom and closed the door. Tony called a goodnight after her, startled again by her demeanor.

All the same, he supposed she could work her way through what had happened any way she chose, and he stretched out on the couch comfortably enough.

***

A blood-curdling scream woke Tony in the middle of the night, and he was off the couch and on his feet before he even knew he was awake.

"Ziva?" he shouted, sure she was being attacked again. In two steps he was at her bedroom door and flung it open to see her writhing alone in the sheets. Still sleeping, Ziva smacked her cast into the nightstand as she flailed and curled into herself, wailing softly.

"Ziva," Tony said loudly, not wanting to touch her. She didn't wake. "Ziva!" he raised his voice further.

This time her eyes fluttered open, but she recoiled from him in fear.

Realizing she couldn't see him in the darkness, Tony flipped on the light by her bed.

Ziva sat up, trembling visibly. "Tony?"

"You were dreaming," he said softly.

She nodded, staring off into her nightmare. "Yes."

"Is it always this bad?" he asked, perturbed.

Ziva glanced up at him. "Usually Rebekah sleeps with me, so I don't...she wakes me first."

Tony watched her draw into herself as she grew more composed. "Do you want me to stay in here with you?"

She hesitated, then shook her head.

Tony studied her, surprised. In the hospital in Italy, he'd stayed with her several nights. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Tony," Ziva snapped.

"Okay," he said quickly. "Good night, then."

Tony returned to the couch, but the alarm had left his heart racing and his mind far from sleep. As he lay awake, a silent sentry, the memory of Ziva's screams filled Tony with images of her pain that he couldn't shut out. He only hoped none of them were true.

***

The exhaustion from laying awake all night finally caught up with Tony late the next afternoon. He'd escaped to Abby's lab where he wouldn't be interrogated about his mood.

But even Abby, it seemed, was in the mood to push him.

"So what's wrong?" she demanded as he walked in.

Tony shook his head.

"Tony!" she said, louder than he'd have liked. "Is something wrong with Ziva?"

She sounded so desperately worried that Tony held up his hands to calm her. "She's fine, don't worry." But then, as Tony took a seat on one of Abby's stools, he thought better of avoiding the issue. "She won't talk to me, Abbs."

Abby shrugged. "You know what she went through, Tony. Would you want to talk about it?"

He rose and paced the lab from one end to the other, considering, before returning to stand in front of her. "Abby, she won't talk to me about anything right now, and we've always been able to before..."

She pursed her lips. "Is she still mad about Michael?"

He cocked his head. "I don't think so." Certainly if she was she'd given no indication of it.

"Have you told her you're there to listen?"

Tony shook his head. "She knows that."

Abby gave him a look. "Tell her anyway."

Tony nodded. It was worth a try.

***

That night was a repeat of the one before: Tony made all the dinner conversation by himself, then put on _Casablanca_ and quoted along with Bogart while Ziva sat silently through Ingrid Bergman's lines.

Finally, as she stood to go to bed, Tony rose with her, touching her shoulder ever so lightly to keep her attention. She looked up at him, and he spoke slowly and carefully. "Ziva, we've never talked about what happened between us and it's fine, we don't ever have to. Or if after Somalia you just don't want to—that's fine, too. But we've always been partners, even when you were pissed at me, you've never shut me out like this before. I get that you have Rebekah, and that's—that's _great_, but I wish you felt you could talk to me, too, is all." His voice trailed off.

Ziva closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, then looked up at him hesitantly. "I read your report."

"Memorized it, I remember."

"Not that one," she said, clenching her jaw a moment. "Of—about Somalia."

"Oh. Why?" Now he was confused. Didn't she remember?

"When you came down the hall, you had a shootout with a guard."

"Yeah. So?"

"I was...standing on the chair. When I heard guns, I tried to turn and fell."

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, not sure what she meant.

"It's not that—" she laid her hands against his chest a moment, then pulled back a step so she could look him fully in the face. "Tony, there are realities of my life that you have never had to deal with. And not having to see them has made you who you are, a man who enjoys escapist melodrama and can take childish delight in a stapler."

He tried not to flinch at her portrait, and returned to the point. "Why was my report important?"

"Tony, I don't want to take that away from you," Ziva said, agitated. "I don't want to change you, and even as you stand there demanding answers, you don't know who I could change you into. And neither do I."

"Ziva," he said slowly, deliberately, "I love you. And I'm willing to be whoever loving you turns me into. What happened?"

She took a deep breath. "If you'd been a second later—I was going to jump off and sever my spinal cord. I was going to kill myself."

For a split second all he could see was what that moment could have been, and the pain of finding her warm but lifeless ripped a gasp from Tony's throat. But then reality returned, a welcome truth, and his hands were on her shoulders before he remembered not to grab her.

Ziva saw his concern and before he could pull away, she pressed toward him, her arms around him. Tony held her tightly, to protect her, to keep her his, craving her like that other night he'd almost lost her—

She leaned up and kissed him. There was joy for both of them in the kiss. Joy that they were finally reunited, close for the first time in nearly a month.

Tony drew back as Ziva's hand slid into his hair, nervous about how quickly his body was reacting to her.

Ziva read the concern in his eyes and pressed her lips to his jaw just below his ear, smiling at his quick exhalation. She stretched up an inch to say softly, "just be gentle the first time. And don't pin me down, I might knock you out."

There was alarm on his face as she pulled back and Ziva smiled fondly. "I'm mostly kidding, Tony."

"Are you sure you want to?" Tony asked conscientiously.

She slid her arms around his neck, rolling her eyes as her cast bumped his shoulder. "My doctor says it's fine."

"That's not what I asked."

"Yes," she said simply. She looked straight into his eyes as she spoke, making sure to be clear.

Tony leaned forward to kiss her again.

The care Tony took to be gentle as he made love to Ziva overwhelmed her. As much as she could feel he wanted her, he waited at every moment for her to consent, was careful never to hold her too tightly or rest the weight of his body on her. When she flinched once, he nearly stopped altogether and she had to ease him back down to the bed. But in the end she came with a shriek and he followed with a moan, and they lay close and warm in the dark, both content.

"Tony," Ziva whispered as their heartbeats slowed.

"Ziva," he answered with a gasp.

Her lips curled in a smile, one of many he'd saved for her. "I love you, too."

________________________________________________________________________

A/N Okay, I lied. One more! Because where has Rebekah been this whole chapter? Hmm...

Sorry if that got too mushy right there at the end, but I figure they earned it after 25 chapters of angst.


	27. Happy: Washington DC

**Pivotal Moments**

**____________________________________________________________  
**

**June 30th, Washington DC**

The jingle of his cellphone roused Tony from deep sleep, and he groggily swiped at the nightstand until he realized he'd left it in the livingroom the night before. Darting out of bed with a gasp as cool air enveloped his naked body, he dashed out of the bedroom and answered the phone seconds before it switched to voicemail.

"DiNozzo," he gasped.

"Get in here. Bring Ziva," Gibbs barked.

Tony opened his mouth to question the order, but Gibbs had already hung up. With a shrug, Tony glanced toward the windows. Dim light was filtering in, but it was still early. What was Gibbs even doing at the Navy Yard? And what did he need Ziva for? Tony headed back into the bedroom. Sometimes Gibbs was just inscrutable, but this time he thought there might be a very good reason.

A smile grew on Tony's face as he watched Ziva stretching, cat-like, across the bed.

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

"Gibbs. He needs us both, right now."

Ziva wrinkled up her face. "It's only 0545."

Now Tony grimaced, but he said simply, "It must be important then."

Ziva nodded and stood, and Tony appreciated that he could look unabashedly at her body. She had some fresh but fading scars, and her right wrist was still in a cast, but otherwise her body had more or less recovered.

Ziva caught him leering and rolled her eyes. "Put some clothes on, Tony. Gibbs will not want to see you like that."

He chuckled and did as he was told.

***

The bullpen was empty when Tony and Ziva entered, but the phone on Ziva's desk rang immediately. She reached for it at once and got out a quick, "David," before pausing to listen. Tony grinned maniacally at the sign of her, returned.

She looked up at him, distressed, as she hung up. "MTAC."

The couple ascended the stairs quickly, and Gibbs opened the door before they could lean in to be scanned.

"Good, you're here," he said tersely, and led them inside.

Standing below the main screen were Vance and Rebekah, both with cautiously blank faces.

"We wanted you to join us to see this," Vance said, and used a remote to turn on an Israeli news channel.

Ziva stared up at a picture of her father over the words _Mossad Director Caught in Suicide Bombing. _After a moment, the voice of the news anchor began to register. _Just days after questions began to be raised in the international community of the fitness of Mossad Direction Eli David for his post, Director David was apparently caught in the blast of an IED on a remote road as he traveled from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem with an aide, Amit Hadar. It is unclear at this time whether the car was specifically targeted, but experts currently believe the type of bomb used was too uncontrollable to have been designated for any particular vehicle._

Ziva slowly became aware of Rebekah behind her, murmuring a translation to the others. Tony's hand settled on her left shoulder, and Ziva leaned into his touch. After a moment, she turned to Rebekah, and spoke in Hebrew. "I'm glad you got Hadar, too."

Her friend's lips quirked. "It wasn't uncontrollable, don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

Ziva nodded, smiling slightly herself. "I know you do."

"Ziva?" Tony asked hesitantly.

She turned to him.

"Are you alright with this?"

Ziva tilted her head, examining her feelings. It would be wrong to say she felt pleasure, but there was a certain...release. Some anxiety about who was watching her and controlling her and what they might make her do that had pervaded her entire adult life was gone. She looked up at Tony. "I feel free." He pulled her close, hugging her with no regard for what anyone else in the room might think, and she hugged him back.

After a moment, she stepped away because Vance had started to speak. "Ziva, as we discussed last week, we've found loopholes that allow us to employ specially trained foreign individuals."

Gibbs snorted. "Same loophole that lets Kort work for the US government, so we really oughta think about closing it, but we're glad to have you."

She smiled appreciatively.

Now Vance turned to Rebekah. "And Officer Meir, we appreciate your help in this matter enough that we'd like to extend the same offer to you if you're interested."

Rebekah nodded slowly as she processed his words, but then bit her lip, her face regretful. "I think my place may be back in Tel Aviv, especially now while the agency redefines itself under a new director."

Vance nodded briskly, business done. "Agent David," he said pointedly, "take bereavement leave, if you'd like to return to Tel Aviv for the funeral. Otherwise, I'll see you back at work when your doctors have all cleared you." At her nod, he left.

The others stood around a moment, uncertain, then Gibbs nodded, dismissing them. "Tony, you might as well get to work," he called after them, and Tony winced.

Ziva chuckled at his expression. "Rebekah can drive me home," she said softly, and squeezed his hand in farewell as she left with her friend.

***

Rebekah watched Ziva as she drove them back to Ziva's apartment, waiting for a cue what tone to take. She knew something was going on in her friend's head, even if Ziva would admit no rational problem with her father's death.

By the time they entered the apartment, Ziva had been silent long enough that Rebekah spoke up. "What are you thinking?"

Ziva turned to her. "My father is dead," she said softly.

Rebekah nodded.

"After the last month, how could I possibly care?" Ziva sat down on the couch.

Rebekah joined her. "When Ari died, you told me that you regretted the death of the boy you remembered, the sweet big brother who looked after you," she offered.

Ziva nodded slowly, then looked at Rebekah with tear-filled eyes. "I'm trying but I can't seem to find any good memories of my father."

Rebekah wrapped her arms around her friend. "Then mourn that," she whispered, "and remember you have me and your friends here, and that my parents will always take you in, no matter what you do to their garden."

Ziva laughed through her tears, then relaxed in Rebekah's arms, letting the tears come and complete the release of so much pain.

When the women finally separated, Rebekah glanced around at the living-room. Take-out containers were strewn around, and one of Ziva's t-shirts was draped over the television. She turned to Ziva with a teasing smile and Ziva buried her face in a pillow, her cheeks burning.

Rebekah delightedly wrested the pillow away from her. "Well?"

Ziva laughed, then stilled self-consciously, bright-eyed. "I love him."

Rebekah squealed and hugged her friend again, this time in joy. After a moment she pulled back. "That took a whole lot longer than it should have."

Ziva smacked her with the pillow and rose to straighten the room, chucking things at Rebekah as her friend continued to tease her. And she was happy.

_______________________________________________________________________

A/N You know, I've gotten so sucked into this alternate storyline I've created that when I'm reminded of how season 6 really ended, it makes me sad.

My greatest thanks to M E Wofford, Foxtail-Padfoot, mia58, aqiran, tigerlily25 and, I'm sure, a few others I'm forgetting, for their regular reviews; you guys kept me eager to post as often as I could. And to those of you who haven't taken the time, please let me know what you think of this as a whole now that it's finished! And thanks to everyone for reading. ~Em


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